Four peaks and a shopping bag

I don't ordinarily discuss (my) life events here (this just isn't that sort of blog), but as the song says, it's my party, and I'll write what I want to.

Lest this has escaped your notice, I am not what you'd call Miss Pro Athlete, Miss Marathon, or even Miss Athlete or Miss Half-Marathon.

I am, however, Miss "Sure, I'll Try That." Which is how I ended up doing the Summit Challenge in Phoenix, AZ this past weekend with my friend, LW, who will forever more be known as Little Goat.

The Challenge kicked off for us, who were doing the Four Peak Challenge, not the Seven Peak Challenge (are they crazy?), at 8:00am Saturday morning. Luckily, the Challenge was a challenge not a race—at least for us—because Little Goat and I left the house a tad late, then noticed we were low on gas, and then the low-air-in-tyre (my car is German, so, yeah, tYre) alarm went off. Would you believe, not one, not two, but THREE tyres were low? I kid you not. $1.50 worth of air later (and some gas)—we were finally on our way.

We were only perhaps 10, okay maybe 15, minutes late to the starting line, but we didn't let a little thing like that deter us from recognizing that we really couldn't begin our climb before partaking of the complimentary coffee and pastries provided. Breakfast was had. We did truly want to start, however, so we also recognized that walking all the way back to our car to stash the fancy bag of samples and pamphlets we'd been given wasn't the best use of time. We kept the bags and off we went to hike Papago Butte, looking for all the world like we were about to stroll down Fifth Avenue, shopping bags in hand.

We strolled, I mean hiked, around the base of the butte, up the back and down its front. One down, three to go. Turns out navigation is part of the challenge—we had to make our own way to the next peak. Auto GPS, bada-bing, bada-bang, and we were there. And making up for lost time too.

But then, oh dear. Somehow between the second and third peaks, bada-bing, bada-bang, we got lost—we were at the bottom of Phoenix (South Mountain) instead of the top of Phoenix (North Mountain), which sounds like a much dumber move than it was, because we did input the correct intersection into the Auto GPS—but, as it turns out, there are TWO places in Phoenix where 7th Street and Thunderbird Road cross. Who knew? That little boo-boo cost us about 45 minutes of drive time. Still, even with all that, we started at 8:30am and were done at 1:45pm. And the allotted time is from 8:00am to 4:00pm, so Little Goat and I feel pretty good about that.

And Miss "Sure, I'll Try That?"—she's agreed to do all seven next year. What was she smoking?!

Seven hours flies by when...

...you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Well that, or your own and your friend's life and romantic travails to solve.

In that case, seven hours seems like barely enough. We were still fighting for air time when we pulled into the driveway. It was a good drive.

There's nothing like spending hours upon hours driving through nothing to bring out the inner philosopher, sage, counselor and magi in all of us.

Here's to auto-therapy—Henry Ford style.

“One’s destination is never a place,
but a new way of seeing things.”

- Henry Miller

Ich bin ein... spargel?

Will our fearless leaders never learn?

George W. created a stir complimenting German asparagus, according to an article in the Wall Street Journal - to the dismay of domestic asparagus growers, who responded by sending 10lbs of good ol' red, white and blue stalks to the capitol for his delectation. (Though, honestly, can't we all just get along? Do they want an asparagus tariff now, for crying out loud?)

When I was little, I lived in Germany, across from a spargel (German for asparagus) field. And being the odd little creature that I was (and I am), while I liked asparagus - I only liked the bottom part of the stem, which made me quite popular at the table, I assure you. These days, I like all of it, and in fact, just the other night I had the most scrumptious asparagus risotto at a restaurant with the most ridiculously long name (Gordon Ramsey at the London West Hollywood). I don't know if the spargel was domestic or imported - but it was out of this world.

Smile...

This is a video you definitely don't want to miss. Click here if you don't see it.
(If there's no link to watch in "higher quality" - click here)

I read about it in the New York Times... then I clicked on it, and started smiling about 15 seconds in, and kept smiling all the way through. Now that's something.

Burning Can Cannes?

Check out 23/6's FAQ: Cannes Film Festival. It includes gems like this:

Why is it in the news now?

The Cannes Film Festival is underway there. It kicked off Wednesday, May 14.

Cool, a festival. Like the Burning Man Festival.

If Burning Man were held in France and wasn't attended solely by dreadlocked hipsters, and it showed films instead of garbage pretending to be art installations, and it had a history as one of the world's most renown [sic] film festivals, then yes, it's exactly like Burning Man.

Like, if Hillary Clinton were a black man named Barack Obama, she'd be the next democratic nominee for president. Exactly like that.

Of all the potteries, in all the towns, in all the world...

Preconceptions can really trip you up. I spent the weekend in a small town in southern Ireland - Shanagarry, to be precise - and I wasn't expecting much other than to see my friend Karen and the cooking school she's attending. After all, this was Ireland, and a small coastal town in Ireland at that.

I was expecting green, and rain, and the world's most wonderful accent. I was not expecting a fabulous pottery and artisan gallery tucked away behind a church and across the street from the Goalpost pub. The Stephen Pearce pottery and gallery has distinct local roots in Shanagarry and County Cork and "proudly participates in preserving the heritage, culture and environment" of same.

I was expecting to meet some of the nicest people on earth, to drive on the wrong side of the road, to eat some artery-clogging-but-worth-it butter and cheese. I was not expecting to wander into a store that could just as easily be on Abbot Kinney Boulevard in Santa Monica or Prince St. in New York.

So, it just shows to go you - as my mother would say - great design, interesting accessories, beautiful things can, and will, be found just about anywhere, if you keep your eyes open and your biases closed.

And because the world is, after all, a global village, Stephen Pearce will happily ship anywhere in it. To ship to the United States, they charge 30% of the total value of the order. Did I mention the gorgeous personalized mugs they make? Karen bought one for each of her housemates - I'm hoping she posts a picture of them on her blog... I'll keep you posted.

And, yes, Ireland is still gorgeously green, it did indeed rain, the people there are still the nicest on earth - and their accent still melts my brain every time. If you haven't been to the Emerald Isle, go, by all means, go!

Never too much down time

Two weeks in Bali. Really, two weeks in Bali. Need I say more? This is a blog, so the answer to that is yes, probably I do.

The beach in Bali is gorgeous and breezy, but it is the interior of the country, riverside, that has stayed with me. It is extraordinary, lush and green and verdant - it feels as though you have been shrunk and are leaving within blades of the most beautiful grass. I never knew there were that many shades of green - sunlit grass green, deep emerald green, mossy wet green, pale jade green, translucent birch green, greens without words. The river rushing outside my room provided the perfect background noise – you know, the kind you see in travel ads, but then never actually see for yourself when you get there? Bali is the ultimate example of a destination that exceeds your expectations - surpasses the ads - makes your dreams come true. I defy anyone to go there with fantasies or dreams of their ultimate resort experience and not come away completely fulfilled.

I spent days in silence, sitting with a book, thinking about NOTHING. Which, after all, is not as easy as it sounds, even in Bali. When you try to think about nothing, to empty your mind, it is easy for the first 3, maybe 2 seconds. And then, WHOOM, thoughts come rushing to fill that void from every direction. Did I really need to buy those shoes? Should I have bought that dress? Does the skirt I wore last night make me look fat? I shouldn’t eat any pasta tonight. Boy the pizza at PJ’s was good yesterday. And all of a sudden, nothing is everything, and you might as well be home on the couch.

Suffice it to say, other than reading (I wanted to read one book a day, and I did) – I exercised my mind with nothing. I truly focused on not thinking about any of the worries and anxieties I had left behind and that were no doubt waiting for my return.

Getting to Bali is a commitment – there’s no question. But unlike many commitments, this one lives up to its side of the bargain, I promise you. I flew from Los Angeles, changing planes in Tokyo, and spending a brief night at an airport hotel in Hong Kong, before the last leg of the trip deposited me on the southern tip of Bali, to be greeted by a smiling woman in a green suit, who ushered me through all the processes and paperwork necessary to let me into the country. And then I was in a car, on my way to the Ayung Gorge.

From the slender bridge leading to mahogany stairs down to reception, from the pools of reeds waving subtly to and fro, from the 20 foot high ceilings, from the moment I arrived, the Ayung Gorge enveloped me in a sense of silence and peace unlike anywhere else I have traveled. Not thirty minutes after arriving, I was ensconced on my private patio, with a gingerade by my side, reading my first book. Later on, I meandered up to the restaurant, where I met Denny, the world’s best hotel chef, bar none, who was serving up a gorgeous spread called Rijsttafel, or “rice table” – a remnant of the days the Dutch ruled of Indonesia. Dish after dish arrived at our table, infused with spices and flavors and all served over Balinese rice, which is grown throughout the country, but only enough for local consumption – it is not exported.

Five days by the river, soaking up the greens and the water and the sun and the peace. Five days by the river, catered to by the most gracious and serene staff. Five days by the river, reading a book a day. Five days by the river, and then it was time to go to the beach.

But more about the beach later this week. This is long enough, dontcha think?