Brett Favre Interception Watch: Weeks Three, Four, and Five? Oh, Who Cares!

I just got back from Hawaii! I've been far too busy to think about Brett. I had very important things to do, like hike, swim, eat, and drink. (He's doing great, by the way -- 12 TDs and only 4 INTs!, and he's sporting his best QB rating ever. I'm being proven wrong week by week, and that's okay with me.)

Back to my trip! I landed on Thursday evening, September 25, and was pretty much a goner. I think I was in bed sometime just after 8:00. The next day, Friday the 26th, I also took it pretty easy. I went with my aunt to the beach at the Sheraton Kauai (it's one of my favorite beaches anywhere) and we had lunch and drinks there. Exhausting! That night we took in the Kauai Mokihana Festival's hula competition. Most of the rest of the days were more exciting and deserve their own posts, which will come in due time as I'm spending the next 5 days packing up my apartment for my move home. Regression is a good thing!

(I'm in full-swing Elective Unemployment mode. I called to change my address with T-Mobile and the overly-perky customer service agent asked me if I was getting ready for the weekend. Honestly, I didn't even know what day it was. I think my silence made her uncomfortable. I seem to be getting worse at coming up with something to say on the spot.)

Usually when I visit Hawaii I'll go to more than one island, but this trip was only Kauai, just like I needed it. Kauai is a very special place for me and I inevitably suffer while there from nostalgic fits of Why-Don't-I-Live-Here-ness. So what exactly is so special about Kauai, you ask? Here's a very brief listing:

1. The wildlife. There actually isn't very much that's native to Hawaii, compared to other places. A lot of wildlife (and especially a lot of flora and fauna) was introduced both by the Polynesians who settled the Islands and the nasty Westerners who conquered them. The two introduced creatures that thrive on Kauai today are the wild chicken and the wild pig. Yup, very exotic, I know. Here are our barnyard friends:

My how their crowing is a bother at 2:30 am.

The big one is actually chasing the little one to get his food.

There are also Hawaiian monk seals in abundance sunning on local beaches and green sea turtles ("honu" in Hawaiian) in droves off the south shore of the island in Poipu. These guys are probably a little more special but somehow less novel to tourists.

A sea turtle! I swear he's there!

2. The buildings. Kauai's law mandates that no building can be taller than the height of a mature coconut tree (approximately 48 feet). We noticed when we spent some time at the Marriott that it was obviously built before this law took effect as even the tallest trees were shorter than the Marriott's towers. Anyway, an example of a Kauai building of typical height (but atypical message):

Soon, hopefully, is relative.

3. The terrain. Kauai is home to Waimea Canyon (the "Grand Canyon of the Pacific"), Kokee State Park (which houses the world's highest-elevated swamp, called Alakai, and several giant Redwood forests among other natural wonders and indigenous bird species), Mount Waialeale (alternately called "The Wettest Spot on Earth" and "One of the Wettest Spots on Earth" depending on who's fact-checking), and the Na Pali coast with its rugged cliffs and famous Kalalau Trail (which I did, and which conquered me). I'm always blown away by the diversity of the terrain. Where else can you get arid landscapes, barking sands, tropical rainforests, lazy freshwater rivers, dramatic sea cliffs, a painted canyon, all the tropical flowers you'd ever want to see or smell, huge waves for surfing, acres and acres of rich farmland, tower-like waterfalls, pristine beaches, and over 400 inches of rain per year all on one island?

Mahaulepu, on the dry south shore

Waimea Canyon

A ginger grove in the forest

Redwoods in the tropics!

Poipu sunset

Lumahai beach on a turbulent day

Blog All About It

The past two weeks have been a whirlwind, with work being crazy as I try to tie up all my loose ends and a trip to California to see my family last week. That trip was great and relaxing, and tomorrow I begin -- with a mixture of dread, excitement, and anticipated relief -- my last week at work.

Last Saturday I took off for San Francisco and upon landing was picked up by an old high school friend, whom I actually had not seen in 12 years. Although she was looking for "a blonde girl" (things have changed thanks to the cold and harsh northeast), I spotted her easily. We met two other long-lost friends from high school who live in the S.F. Bay Area at a restaurant in San Francisco's North Beach neighborhood called Rose Pistola. I had so much fun seeing my old friends, despite not being able to cope fully with the realization that we are all 'adults" now. I think the meal was pretty good. I know it was expensive. In any case I was wrecked. I got home to Grandma's late and fell into bed.

The real highlight of my trip was our mini family reunion on the north shore of Lake Tahoe. Unfortunately, my aunt, uncle, and cousins who live in the Bay Area were unable to join us so just five of us -- my aunt and uncle from Hawaii, my divorced grandparents, and me -- went to Tahoe and stayed in a house we rented for four nights. Before undertaking our three-plus hour drive, we stopped to have lunch with the family members who weren't coming along. It's always so nice to see them (and swim in their pool). My aunt went all-out with the food -- we had bbq'd chicken, southwest slaw, broccoli salad, green salad, fruit salad, and lemon cheesecake, all homemade. I'm still waiting for those southwest slaw and lemon cheesecake recipes (and will post them when I get them; you'll thank me).

After fueling up, we began the drive to the lake. We rented a gigantic SUV that somehow still didn't fit all of our stuff, so several suitcases had to be strapped on top. Oh, and I was sitting in the middle of the back seat in between my sparring grandparents. (It's all in good fun . . . I think.) When we finally arrived, everyone was ready either for bed or for a drink.

We're finally here!

The next day (Monday) we got a visit from my grandmother's niece (i.e. my aunt's first cousin and my . . . well, according to Wikipedia she's my first cousin, once removed) and her husband, who live in Sparks, NV. We sat around catching up, walked to our neighborhood beach (where I, of course, took a dip), and looked at old photos cousin Chris brought of my grandmother's family. Hearing Chris's stories -- and she is a great storyteller -- about my great-grandparents and great aunts and uncles definitely piqued my interest in my genealogy (to be continued here, no doubt).

By the way, if you ever want to piss someone from Nevada off, call it NevAHda.

A short five-minute walk led to our local beach, small but uncrowded and perfect for swimming and exploring. One of the things that makes Lake Tahoe special is its water clarity. The water is as clear as you'd find in the Caribbean, thanks to some sort of strange science thing that prevents algae from accumulating and causing the murkiness so typical of other lakes. Lake Tahoe is also the second-deepest lake in the United States (at its deepest 1645 ft). Because of its depth, I read, Lake Tahoe never freezes in the winter (except of course at the shore where it's shallow). For facts about Lake Tahoe, click here. The place is stunning and a great destination any time of year (just be sure to put your turkey in early if you go for Thanksgiving).

On the way to our local beach

Looking west at our beach

A choppy day at the beach and a furry friend undeterred.

Tuesday we saw another visitor, our family friend Randy, who spent just over 8 years building his very own plane from a kit. For the past few years since it's been finished, I've been wondering -- loudly, at that -- when I would get a ride in it. I even joked to Randy when I told him of our Tahoe plans that he should fly down from his Vancouver, WA home to see us and give me a ride. And he didn't disappoint.

Randy's homemade plane

It was alternately thrilling and terrifying flying with Randy. The thrills were due to his impeccable flying and the lake's natural beauty. The terrors were thanks to the strong (by my judgement) winds that day, which caused an unusually (by Randy's judgement) bumpy ride, especially over the mountains.

Not exactly comforting to a first-time passenger.

A photo attempt was thwarted, in fact, by one of these bumps, but the result is pretty perfect given the circumstances.

Truly white knuckles.

While we flew out over the lake, Randy and I talked through our headsets. He told me we were at about 9000 feet, or about 3000 feet above the lake (yes, I had to ask for a clarification).

The ski slopes of Northstar at Tahoe

A Lake Tahoe beach from the air.

My view behind the pilot of Lake Tahoe's expanse.

Coming in for a landing with the runway ahead.

Randy, like Chris, is a great storyteller, and it had been ages since any of us had seen him so we had a blast together. Sadly he had to get home before dark (a hazard of private plane travel, at least when you have an unlighted strip of grass to land on) so our visit was cut short.

Our third and final full day in Tahoe was kind of a lazy day, so basically no different from the others. We went out to dinner and did a little gambling at the Blackjack table at the Hyatt (Lake Tahoe straddles Nevada and California; once you cross the state line to Nevada there is a marked difference in ambiance -- flashy lights, cigarette smoke, and ker-ching noises replace serenity, clean air, and the crunch, crunch of hikers walking over a bed of pine needles). Dinner was great. Gambling we won't discuss. The next day was back to the Bay Area, with a stop en route for Mexican food at my request (which turned into pleading after GPS led us to "downtown" Davis in the middle of rush hour; we ended up in much-quieter Dixon).

I spent my last night in California at my aunt and uncle's hotel so I could walk to BART and ride the train to the airport in the morning. We drank some and reminisced a lot, and, as always, it was sad for me to leave the next morning. Even though I barely recall living in the Bay Area and can find my way around only with direction, there is always something about being there that feels like home. My family's memories seem to be around every corner.

It was a fun few days, just long enough so that no one killed each other. Despite our differences, we inevitably unite, probably thanks to my pressure to continue doing so. I may be the only one who admits to enjoying our time together, but I'd like to think I'm not alone in feeling it. There is always tension, there are always jabs, but there are is also always a ton of laughs and good memories formed. I walk away from time with my family feeling warm and knowing that they are good people who love me. It doesn't get much better than that, as cheesy as it sounds.

Driving home from Newark airport, I smiled to myself as I crossed an interchange of the very same I-80 we'd spent close to 7 hours on, singing, bickering, and reminiscing some 2500 miles away.

I Have Nothing To Say, So I'll Post Some Favorite Travel Photos

With any luck, to be continued. And continued, and continued. . .

Papohaku Beach on Mokokai, HI

Foothills on Kauai, HI

California Wine Country

Smoky Mountains Cabin


Cades Cove (Smoky Mountains) Stream

British Museum Interior

Beijing - Forbidden City


China's Great Wall


Saugerties, NY Lighthouse

My Peruvian Dreams Have Turned To Poi

It has been my dream for the past several years (since seeing a History Channel special on Machu Picchu; I am a big fan of ruins) to go to Peru. And even before Machu Picchu, I'd dreamed of floating down the Amazon in an itty bitty boat looking for pink river dolphins. This dream formed in first-year Environmental Science class and while at that time I felt this experience had to happen in Brazil, I've since learned that Peru's Amazon is far more untouched than Brazil's and just as ecologically exciting. I got the silly idea I'd be able to afford this trip to Lima/Cusco/Machu Picchu/the Amazon between jobs (the job following this one, mind you, is still hypothetical at this point), and reluctantly came to the conclusion that while I could certainly spend all of my money and go to Peru, I'd come back broke and unemployed. Not wishing to default on loans but at the same time wishing to do a little between-job (there I go again) soul searching, I considered other places to which I might travel without depleting my entire savings account.

And the obvious answer was Kauai. The decision was basically made for me by the almost-unbelievable airfare (and I believe it only because I bought it) to Honolulu, combined with the chance to see an old friend who'll be visiting and my aunt and uncle who live there. So Peru is on hold for now, but I know it will happen.

This trip is a big step, as it more or less cements my unemployment plans. Yay, or oy? A little bit of both, I think.

Waimea Canyon, my Machu Picchu substitute

Greece in Review: In Which I Prove Either My Keen Observation Skills or My Reckless Ignorance

I went to Greece not just for a wedding but also to experience a new place and culture. Here I present what I've learned about the Greeks, a gross generalization that is probably offensive and also at least partly inaccurate. But please understand that it comes from my own observations, which are rooted in nothing but endearment, and which are mine for the judging (and sharing). And after all, I came back with respect and admiration for these people.

1. They won't scold their male children. That's all there is to it.

2. They won't scold their grown-up children for breaking silly rules that only exist to provide an opportunity for scolding anyway. ("Ladies and gentlemen, we have not arrived at the gate. The seat belt sign is still illuminated. If you do not take your seats, the pilot will not move the plane. We will wait here until everyone is seated." You can bet it wasn't on Greek soil I heard that.)

3. They're not above bending the rules in the name of a happy ending. On my last day, I went with the bride and groom to the priest's house so they could sign the marriage license. In looking it over the groom discovered that his names were inverted and that the best man had signed in the wrong place. Not about to let this rain on anyone's parade, the priest ushered us into his garden, took out his pad of marriage licenses, and began filling out a new one. As the best man and witness had both already returned to the States, a fellow friend who was with us forged the best man's signature and I signed as the witness. (At least my witnessing wasn't totally bending the rules; I did actually witness the marriage. Through a window with bars on it, but I witnessed it nonetheless. And while I may not have understood a word of what was being said other than the bride's and groom's names, I got the gist, didn't I?)

4. They do things much later than we do.* This includes waking up, going to sleep, and eating. If we ate dinner at 11:00 p.m. it was a good night. This seems to come from being social, carefree, and fun-loving. Plus, if everybody else is out you don't want to miss an opportunity to socialize (see below).

5. They are endless gossips and are never without what to say. (I only experienced gossip of the good kind, but I've heard plenty about the other kind.)

6. They are warm and generous people to whom family means the world.

7. They have absolutely no idea what they're talking about when it comes to serious things like airport security, as proven by the airport cashier who wouldn't let me purchase the prepackaged candies for sale at Duty Free (where I had to show my boarding pass to shop) because honey was an ingredient in said candies and liquids above 100mL aren't allowed for transport to the U.S.

8. They're in no hurry.** And why should they be? They only laid the foundation for civilized society. They put in their time some 2500 years ago; they deserve to coast now, don't they?

9. Please don't expect them to be on time. This is not only ignorant but also a bit rude.

*Farmers and the elderly excluded
**Except on the road. Oh boy, look out.

Ah, Greece, thanks for the hospitality

Night 4 (Chios): Wait, There Was A Wedding, Wasn't There?

Saturday evening in the town square the men congregated at long tables, perhaps drinking or perhaps telling stories about the groom, or perhaps both. The women gathered at the bride's house, ostensibly to help her get ready. But she was already ready when I arrived, and those who weren't eating were fawning over her. (It's always about eating, isn't it?) Watching the bride being bounced from one cousin/aunt/friend to the next was like watching someone being passed around a mosh pit with different but no less harrowing potential consequences, e.g. her dress being stepped on and dirtied or torn, tears ruining her makeup, someone's dress getting stuck to hers and causing a run (this actually happened), etc. The flower girls darted around the room, rambunctious little things who sat still long enough to have a photo snapped but not long enough to coordinate synchronized smiling. After about a half hour of this commotion, a collective excitement overtook us as someone shouted, "The men are here!" The congregation of men filled the narrow alley leading up to the bride's grandparents' house, fronted by a three-piece band and the eager groom, who was holding her bouquet to offer as a gift.

The serenade begins

I had been prepared by the bride for this but seeing it happen was really thrilling. All the women gathered on the two balconies -- except the bride of course; she had to remain inside playing hard to get -- and smiled and waved down as the band played and the groom stood in front smiling optimistically. (The point of the serenade is to convince the bride to come down to join him, but she doesn't show herself to the groom until she gets to the church. He stands at the entrance waiting for her, not sure until he sees her that she'll actually show up.) After about twenty minutes of serenading, the groom and his entourage "gave up" and started for the church, which was about a half mile away. Once they were gone, the bride and her family descended and the rest of us followed her.

The scene at the church was unlike anything I'd ever seen at an American wedding. The church itself was tiny, accommodating the the bride and groom, their families, and about 15 or 20 other people. As the entire village showed up, it meant most of us remained outside (a blessing anyway, as it was about 100 degrees inside) while the ceremony was broadcast to us. It was entirely in Greek and I had no idea what was happening, but that didn't stop me and a friend from perching on a ledge and staring in at the proceedings through a small window. Other guests milled about, socialized, snapped pictures, and explored the surrounding monastery. No one seemed to pay any mind to the wedding ceremony going on (I think they were anticipating their favors).

Waiting for the ceremony to finish

After the ceremony was the receiving line. (Entering the receiving line also entitled you to your wedding favor of Jordan Almonds and an almond-flavored cookie, so this was mayhem.) It seems a wedding in Greece is as much about getting face time with the bride and her family as it is about celebrating a union. The poor girl didn't get a break.

The tail end of the receiving line

Between the ceremony and the reception we had a couple of hours to kill and spent them in stressful search of gas to fill our empty tank. According to the conversion given to me by one of my friends, gas came out to be about $8.50 per gallon on Chios. (I would check this but I'm terrible at math.)

The reception was as I expected: delightful. An entire seaside village was shut down and tables were set up in front of the harbor. The bride herself arranged for the lamps and candles that served as simple decor, and we couldn't have asked for better weather. The first dance lasts forEVER, as anyone who wants to dance with the bride takes a turn doing so. A group of us took our turn together, and while I had no idea what I was doing attempting to follow the traditional dance of Chios, I sure enjoyed making a fool of myself trying. I loved hearing the Greek music and watching the traditional dances. After more wine came more dancing, and the 450-person-strong party was still going when we left a little before four.

A video of the first dance between the bride and groom:

After waffling on whether or not to go (no surprise here), I'm so happy I was there to wish my friends the best and have a blast doing so. There was every opportunity for cliche (I am very much avoiding the words "big" and "fat" here) but the whole experience felt so authentic and laid-back that I think even the bride was satisfied.

Day 4 (Chios): Another Non-Beach Activity

After spending a few hours at Agia Dynami beach on Saturday, we drove through the medieval village of Mesta, which, according to my friend the local, is one of the most beautiful and charming villages on the island. All crowded stone houses and winding, narrow alleys, it was also a driving hazard. We took what was in retrospect a wrong turn and ended up stuck in an alley waiting for a tour group's leader to finish his spiel and herd the group on to the next attraction. Not surprisingly, our presence in no way motivated the tour guide to hurry his subjects along or even to encourage them to move to the side of the road so we could pass. Here, a photo of whatever he was talking about, taken after we had the road back:

Mesta alley

Day 3 (Chios): A Non-Beach Activity!

Finding ourselves with some time to kill before extending our car rental, my friends and I did a little exploring. Armed with a map of the island marked up with "what to see" by our friend the bride, we decided to visit the Cave of Olympi, a 200,000 year-old natural wonder filled with stalactites resembling pipe organs and wedding cakes. As we descended into the cool, musty interior, our bi-lingual tour guide described (via a script from which he didn't dare stray) the climate and chronology of the cave. He ushered us along grumpily, almost as if he resented our presence. Humorless tour guides always amaze me. Why and how do they get into it? If you would rather play with rocks than talk to people, wouldn't you be a geologist and not a tour guide?

Cave Interior

It looks gooey but it's not.

Days 2, 3, 4, and 5 (Chios): A One-Track Mind

Chios is a medium-large (as far as I can tell by Greek standards, anyway) island in the eastern Aegean near the coast of Turkey. The island's claim to fame is the mastic tree, a small shrub-like evergreen that when wounded produces a sap used as, among other things, varnish, chewing gum, and body lotion. (There are even mastic-flavored yogurt and soda.) While mastic trees grow in other locations, the one that produces the valuable sap grows only on the southern side of Chios.

The summertime population of Chios, according to a local source, is almost four times its winter population (can that really be or did I misunderstand?), so making a living there isn't easy if you don't farm. A lot of people live in Athens most of the year and spend their summers on Chios running a business catering to tourists. Happily, there are few tourists on Chios and most of them are Greek. (In fact most Americans haven't even heard of it.) Knowing this in advance, I worried Chios would be lacking in the natural beauty we imagine when we hear the words "Greek island." Happily again, I was wrong. For four days in a row my only concern was getting to the beach (and hoping my camera battery didn't fail me). Here I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Vroulidia beach

Vroulidia water

Vroulidia rocks

Vroulidia sunset

Mavra Volia part 1

Mavra Volia part 2

Mavra Volia cliff

Emporio harbor

Agia Dynami from above

Agia Dynami lagoon

Agia Dynami water

Only in trying to do a little retroactive Chios research did I discover that that on Chios there is a UNESCO World Heritage site -- an 11th century monastery called Nea Moni -- which apparently has some of the finest mosaics around. I LOVE mosaics, so to have missed seeing these makes me hurt inside a little. I would have skipped the beach one afternoon in a heartbeat to go to Nea Moni.

Day 1 (Athens): It's F*cking Hot As Balls Here

I landed at Athens' Venizelos Airport* on the morning of July 23, far from rested but full of excitement (and caffeine!). This was to be my "alone" day -- my day of solitary adventure, which is the kind in which I suppose I take the most pride. Having perspired many a bullet over the potential closing of the Athens Metro beginning in July, I was relieved to find it running. Better than just running, it was actually efficient and extremely easy to navigate!

The Metro took me (with one transfer) to the very Acropolis of Art History lore. After exiting from the underground, I surveyed my surroundings to momentary panic: there was nothing but tourist shops in every direction. In desperation I looked up, and in doing so caught my breath. Rising above the schlock was the Acropolis, with the corner of the magnificent Parthenon peering out from over the top of the hill like a street cat, afraid to show too much of herself but unable to resist scoping the action.


In my wildest, nerdiest dreams, I could not have imagined being so impressed. To mount the Acropolis I followed the crowd, popping in at every incorrect entrance (why don't they just have an all-Acropolis ticket?) until I finally found the main one. Half a mile and twelve Euros later, I was on my way to the top.

The Parthenon Restoration Project, according to a sun-worn placard I read, began in 1983 (I was four). An article in February's Smithsonian magazine adds 8 years to the project's life and illuminates the obstacles and disctractions encountered by restoration team members (and the gaffes of turn of the 20th Century "restoration" attempts, which did far more harm than good). It also gives props to the ancients for genuinely baffling us moderns by the scope of their ability.

The iconic Parthenon view, iconic tourists included.

After not hearing "American" for a solid two hours, I had my first taste of home when a group of young Americans walked by me and one of the girls observed to her friend, "It's fucking hot as balls here." She was right, but I had long forgotten discomfort. Surveying the panorama of Athens, I tuned out Americans, Germans, and Italians alike (okay, maybe not the Italians) and inhaled the history and fresh air. I snapped photos of the Erechtheion and its famous caryatids, which I giddily recalled having studied in freshman Art History class. After gawking at the caryatids I noticed a hunk of stone on which was carved a blurb about the Erechtheion. To my great disappointment (although had I paid closer attention in class, this may not have come as such a surprise), I learned that the original caryatids (along with other archaeological finds from the Acropolis) had been removed and placed in the Acropolis Museum (ALSO under construction!); what I was marveling at were in fact replicas.

Imposters!

In order to get back to the airport in time for my flight to Chios, I had to cut short my Acropolis visit. In looking back, though, it's safe to say I got my money's worth. With more time I'd have entered the Agora and the various other temples that appeared to be on separate entrance tickets. The truth is that the signs are mostly inadequate and relatively scarce, which, given the Acropolis' status as THE Greek ruin to see, surprised me. On the one hand, it assumes you're well-prepared, with a guide, or have a guide book. On the other, it leaves so much of the history of the site open to interpretation. I get the impression that most people are disappointed, or at least underwhelmed, by the Acropolis. Putting aside the signs' deficiency, I can see why, given the ubiquitous "improvements." Scrutinizing the buildings' skeletons, I noticed just how many of these modern touches there were: a cement filling here, a metal rod there, a stray dog, a construction crane, and an umbrella salesman here, there, and there. . .

Maybe it was that I hadn't counted on making it, or maybe it was that I'm a bit of a history geek, but my Acropolis visit didn't disappoint or underwhelm. I value elation at learning and imagining, and I hope I never stop experiencing it.




From the airport I took the Metro line 3 (the blue line) to Syntagma Square and switched to line 2 (the red line) to Akropoli, just one more stop. Armed with my Wiki printout, I made it in 45 minutes with no wrong turns. On the way back to the airport I spent about 20 minutes browsing the Syntagma Square station, where excavation finds (and plenty of informational signs detailing them) are displayed. The coolest one was an aqueduct piece placed just right to show where Classical-era Athens street level was. I've chosen, however, to display the photo I took of a thousands-year-old skeleton as I'm probably the only lame-o who'd get excited about an aqueduct.


Back at the airport, I caught my flight to Chios. My friend (the bride) picked me up at the airport and I spent the next 8 hours pining for sleep until I was finally allowed it, while we ate, drank, drove around, and ate some more. (In Greece you can get chicken souvlaki AND french fries in the very same pita!) Chios photos in the next post.

*Anyone not sure how to maneuver the picking up of their bags from the baggage carousel should consult this very helpful guide (scroll down), chock full of advice on everything from claiming the best real estate for baggage-spotting to getting the most out of people-watching during this ordeal.