Yellowstone

Lone Buffalo

Last weekend, an opportunity arose - Beau actually had Saturday AND Sunday off, a rarity in our lives, so we weren't going to waste it on beer and babes! We decided we'd drive to Yellowstone National Park, which is about 4 hours away from us, very do-able considering the AMPLE amount of driving that Beau has clocked during our numerous road trips. I really cherish these excursions, because we always have such a good time seeing the country (whichever one we're in), eating in interesting restaurants, talking about our lives and future, and of course, my reading aloud of the Outlander series, complete with American, French, and Scottish accents (well, my "Scottish" accent really comes off as more Irish, but it's close enough). We're passionate about those books and characters!

The trip was kind of a post-birthday celebration for me, since I'd never been to Yellowstone and we hadn't had much time to celebrate on Black Monday.

I love nature, I love gazing at beautiful trees, twinkling rivers, and looming mountains, but seriously, it's all about the animals for me. I can get those first three things right here in Missoula (well, the mountains aren't SO looming here, but they're still pretty). Yellowstone makes wildlife accessible, that is, when Yellowstone itself is accessible. Only one road is open during the winter, and luckily it is the one close to where we could enter. Unfortunately, we would not be able to see things like Old Faithful, which is at the southern part of the park, and closed off for many months yet.

We got to Livingston late the night before and stayed in a very western motel, the Livingston Inn, and when I say western, I mean really western, not western-themed like a Vegas casino. It came complete with cowgirl pictures on the walls, an outdoor-themed quilt on the bed (with a giant trout in the center!), and lasso rope lining anything that could be lined - mirrors, picture frames, where the walls met each other and the ceiling, etc. It worked for us, especially its inexpensive price. The only annoyance was the jet engine of a heater which clicked on and off constantly as it "adjusted" the temperature. One of my favorite things about the place was a sign in front: they even had stalls for horses too! Yeehaw!

The only other annoyance was the wind. I can say without a DOUBT that it was the WINDIEST day I have experienced in my life. The sound of the wind inside the motel room was so strong, it reminded me of when we lived across from the ocean in New Zealand. From our bedroom at night we could always hear the waves crashing on the shore.

Here in Livingston, the wind was so loud and powerful, a couple of times I thought it was the roar of thunder. It wasn't bitterly cold, but with the wind whipping through your clothes, you really felt chilled.

The next morning we had breakfast, and though it was just as windy, it was a bright, sunny day. Hooray! We drove the extra hour to get to the entrance, and shortly after entering the snow-covered park, we spotted a small herd of buffalo to our left. I was practically screaming at Beau to stop the car, me already armed with my camera.

He was unimpressed. "We're going to see thousands of buffalo in the park, let's keep going."

"What's your rush? There's like NO PEOPLE in this park, and really, you don't know for SURE we'll see more buffalo. What if we don't and we passed up this chance forever? Huh, huh?!"

Okay, so we did see 10,000 more buffalo before we left the park. So what!

Since it was winter, there really were very few people in the park, which was a huge plus. You could just imagine the pressure to keep moving moving moving on the skinny two-lane road. Beau went slow, but I wanted him to go even slower so I could take photos. The landscape was nice, but totally snow covered, and I admit, there wasn't a lot that made me gasp in awe. Nevertheless, it was a nice drive.

The highlight was when we rounded the bend and saw two cars coming from the other direction. Very. Slowly. We quickly spotted a small figure trotting in front of the first car. Squinting, we both exclaimed, "That's a wolf!" and Beau immediately stopped the car.

I was shocked. Though beautiful, the poor thing looked starved, with its raggedy tufts of a coat and emaciated body. It looked absolutely terrified, looking back at the two-car parade that steadily followed him. Beau thoughtfully turned off our engine and the poor beast nervously approached. As he was passing, I got a good look at his eyes - bright and green, as if a light was shining through them. All I could think of was that giant slab of uneaten ham that had sat on my plate at breakfast, untouched as we left the diner. How I wished that I had had it now to throw to wolf, though of course, that is a BIG no-no in Yellowstone. Beau took my camera and got this shot, all the while muttering, "Life is rough in this park, it's rough."

Every time I had seen video of wolves in Yellowstone, they always looked so fat and frolicky. We thought maybe it was because this seemed to be a lone wolf without a pack, but a very outdoorsy friend at work said they always look like that.

I couldn't take my mind off that poor wolf though. It's fear and hunger were so powerful it was almost like my heart hurt for it. I guess that sounds melodramatic, but I have always loved wolves a great deal and seeing one seemingly so bad off was very unsettling. I hope it was just typical winter survival for him and that he'll be fine.

Anyway, we got pretty far along the road, saw a (frozen) waterfall, many many more buffalo, and some scattered elk and mule deer. When the snow kicked in, Beau decided we better turn around and go back before we got stuck in the park. It turned out to be a very prudent idea since a huge snowstorm later moved in, making travel difficult to impossible. Just as we neared the park exit, we hit a traffic jam.

The buffalo kind.

In New Zealand, we had to patiently wait for endless herds of bleating sheep to shuffle past. This time, it was the indifferent, yet dangerous buffalo that stalled us. Fortunately, we didn't have to sit there forever, but it was pretty exhilarating to be very....slowly....passing a grazing buffalo....so close that you could reach your fingers outside your car window and brush across its side.

A good day.

Buffalo Jam in Yellowstone National Park



Sheep Jam in New Zealand

Cow Jam in New Zealand

Glacier

One of the great pulls to moving to Montana was its natural beauty and opportunities for hiking, fishing, exploring, canoing, etc. One of the saddest results of moving to Montana is never having the free time off of work or money to do these things. But once in awhile, we manage it, even if we have to cheat a little.

Beau did something that neither of almost ever do, he called in sick...when he really wasn't. Stupid Wally World doesn't seem to offer personal days, and only allow him 3 sick days every 6 months (yeesh). Like me, Beau doesn't normally miss work either, unless he's bleeding from a lung, but he's been subbing during the day and dealing with Wally Bullshit at night, so he just needed ONE day off.

We decided to finally make it to Glacier National Park, something we've both been itching to do, especially me, who has to suffer somewhat as co-workers often come in on a Monday morning regaling me of tales from their adventures there. Unfortunately, the main road was closed at one point, but we knew there were other things to do, and since we had one whole day, we went for it.

Takes awhile to get there, but as usual, I read aloud as Beau drove. This is a rather symbiotic relationship since I love to read and he would much rather drive. I always bring two books: one a "fun" book usually a fiction novel from a current series we're on, and one is usually our most recent self-help, make-your-marriage-strong book, which is guaranteed to make Beau grimace when I pull it from my sack, but with which he still participates faithfully. Currently we are on our third book from a Sci-Fi series I read many many moons ago and from where I pulled one of my internet handles from. It's not the most sophisticated prose, but it's fun and fast-going. Plus who doesn't like a book with colored unicorns in it?

The "marriage" book is called "Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work: A Practical Guide from the Country's Foremost Relationship Expert," written by this renowned research psychologist who, if you can get past his inflated arrogance about how HE is the lone man in the universe to have figured out why marriages actually succeed or fail through his decades of staring at couples in his marriage lab, is actually rather eye-opening and revealing. He claims a 94% prediction rate whether a couple will divorce within one meeting of them. The book was highly recommended to us by someone in the know in this area, and I think it's very valuable, though even with my enthusiasm, it can take us quite awhile to trudge through a non-fiction book. On the positive note, during our hours in the car yesterday, we have discovered that we both have fantastic "love maps." This basically means if we were on the Newlywed Show, we'd win a bazillion dollars by easily naming each other's favorite foods, biggest stresses (duh), and favorite place for making whoopee.

After several hours in the park, where unfortunately we did NOT spot any bears -- a long-standing joke between Beau and I regarding how you can't see any bears in NZ, but you can easily (ha ha) in Montana -- or wolves, which I was hoping for, or even a frickin moose which would have been awesome, we did spot several deer (Beau stifling his yawns), a couple of bald eagles (cool), and a few colorful rodents (eh). At one point, both of our eyes scanning the fields for wildlife, I shouted out, "Stop stop! Back up!" Whizzing the Honda backwards, we stopped some distance away from a large, brown object I was hoping was pay dirt. I got out my camera while Beau oriented our cheapo binoculars. After a moment, he said, "Ahhhh."

"What is it?" I demanded excitedly.

"Yuuup," Beau said, slowly in one of his 'country boy voices,' "That there is the very rarely-seen, rusted out John Deere tractor."

"What?" I said, taking the binoculars from him and focusing on it myself. "Oh, damn."

We strolled along an easy and pleasant trail through a forest which let in little sunlight, and another through a giant open meadow where the ground felt like walking on a sponge, apparently since once upon a time the whole field had been one big lake. And I swear, every time we passed a small creek or river, Beau would look down at it and say, "I've fished in that."

My heart hurt a little knowing just how much he yearned to actually be fishing in it again, but the cost to outfit him with fly fishing supplies (since he'd sold/given away all of them pre-New Zealand) and the free time to actually come here, are not available. It is so frustrating to him to make it to Montana where he has spent many a happy week camping or fishing, only to now spend most of his days in the windowless, fluorescent hell that is Wally World.

We ended the day with a stop at the in-laws, who live in the town where the entrance to the park lies. There was some irony in that when we came into their apartment, they were watching a special on the enormous amount of grizzly bears that roamed around the park. Well, they were actually talking about Yellowstone, not Glacier, but still. Close by! We ended the day at KFC where the in-laws watched as Beau and I, completely and utterly famished, tore into our chicken like Hannibal Lecter.

Anyway, to end on a nice note, the following are my gorgeous, and sometimes humorous photos of the day:

Lovely little creek at the entranceway.

This reminds me of "Mirror Lake" in New Zealand, for obvious reasons.

Bald Eagle

Shadowed us. And unusually soft-looking me.

It was a bummer all the burnt-out trees (of which, sadly, there were many many many throughout the park), blocked the shot of this amazing, meandering river.

I loved how it named drowning as its #1 cause of death, therefore implying that there were several other ways of kissing your ass goodbye in the park....


Ahhh, here's another way: serving as a bear snack. Drowning or bear candy? Hmm, I'm going to go with drowning. No wonder it's the #1 choice, err, cause.

And for Loafkeeper's pleasure, here is the photo of that rare John Deere species:
Keep in mind we were going by in a car!

The Misadventures of J. and Beau - Day 3: Swing, Fall!

The next day we spent a little bit of time at the lake, which was blessedly free of the obnoxious crowd. The water was nice and cool and it was a beautiful day. After having a nice pancake and egg breakfast (with a somewhat less-impressive campfire), and washing off a bit in the scenic water pump, we packed up our dust-covered Honda and were off again. This time we headed to Libby, the nearest town. I was curious about Libby, since Beau had mentioned it a few times. But driving into it was a bit of a disappointment -- the town is just depressed - run-down, dusty businesses with the paint chipping - you can't quite tell if they're open for business or closed for good. It did proudly proclaim itself the "City of Eagles," fortified by the prominent featuring of various GINORMOUS raptors lunging and diving from overhead signs and posts. I couldn't figure out if I thought it was cool or totally hideous.

Water pump at Howard Lake

Howard Lake on Sunday Morning.

From there we headed to the duel tourist attraction of the Kootenai Falls and the Swinging Bridge, located on the side of the road - blink and you'll miss the sharp turnoff - just outside Libby. Since I have no cute or unlucky story this time around, but the photos are pretty cool, I'll let the photos do the talking. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to tweak them in Photoshop, but they're still pretty pretty.

Kootenai River

Somewhat Scary but fun Swinging bridge. It doesn't exactly feel stable when you're walking across it, but I guess that's part of the point.

Me pretending I was in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. But cool like Indy, not stupid like Willie.

Beau

Well, there was one other thing...on the way back, and entering Kalispell, I couldn't believe my eyes when I spotted a Sizzler to my right! I thought they had gone extinct years back! The only time I'd seen one in the past several years was in Singapore, of all places. I had eaten there, and it was pretty blech. This did not in any way dampen my enthusiasm at seeing this endangered species in Montana.

"Sizzler, OMG Sizzler! Let's eat there, quick, turn right!" I was pretty excited, I admit. As a kid, Sizzler with its 2349 different bars - the salad bar, the soup bar, the kid's bar, the appetizer bar, the pasta bar, etc. - was always my favorite place to go to (well, except for also Monti's La Casa Vieja in Tempe, AZ which is AWESOME if you like steak and cowboys and Roman bread. But I haven't been there in years). We walked in, and just like in the old days, it was packed with senior citizens. Nothing like a buffet with early bird specials to rustle in grandma and grandpa.

So, they still had a salad bar, a couple vats of soup, and a little bit of pasta, but overall, it was not even close to the giant of a buffet it had once been. The soup was pretty yuck (tasted like Campbell's that had been cooking for a LONG time), the pasta was pretty bland, and though I did enjoy making my own taco, the shell was stale. Oh well, at least all the food in the salad bar seemed fresh! *sigh* Poor Sizzler, won't you come back to me?

The Misadventures of J. and Beau - Day 2: Howard Lake

The next day - Saturday - not as early as we planned (it never is), but early enough, we set out on the road north. The car was packed tight with our camping gear (including that BLUE blanket, *wink*), and the cooler was stocked with bottled water and ice. Through a trip to Good Foods (a mutated clone of the evil Whole Foods), we had amassed about 12lbs of bulk food from which I made my own version of trail mix: yummy honey granola, GOOD nuts, dried cranberries, banana chips, and m&m's. No frickin raisins or sugared pineapple or walnuts in this baby! Of course, the four or five bags of trail mix cost about $3000.

We were off to Howard's Lake in northern Montana, near Libby. From Missoula, it is a few hours to Kalispell, which is of similar size, though somewhat different character. We both like Kalispell a lot, though most of my experience of it has been driving through it. We've even contemplated moving here, but what *I* would do for a living is beyond me. In between Missoula and Kalispell is Polson, which I suppose at this point, is basically a tourist town, mostly because it embraces the mind-boggling massive Flathead Lake. Now, I was practically born on Lake Michigan, so I have some familiarity with what a "great lake" is, and Flathead Lake certainly qualifies. Now with Lake Michigan possessing 22,400 square miles and Flathead Lake just 191.5 square miles, you'd think there's no comparison. But when you're driving around Flathead, it doesn't seem that way.

To me, the majority of any body of water's beauty has to do with the effect of the sun. I was convinced further of this when living across the ocean in New Zealand, since I had my morning ritual of staring out the kitchen window and observing with an almost scientific interest its ever-changing appearance. It could be twinkling blindingly in a baby blue; lapping happily in a warm turquoise; or terrifyingly rough in dirty grey. They were all beautiful to me, but my favorite was the rich, peacock-blue color that I just couldn't get enough of. I don't know if it stimulates something in my brain, raises my levels of serotonin, or is just plain pleasant, but when gazing at water that color, I feel hypnotized. I just feel so good.

And very fortunate to me, as we angled around the lake, which stretches from Polson all the way up to Kalispell, the bright sun turned that water just that color blue I adore. Gorgeous.

Somewhat marring this beauty was the sprawling development which seeped into every inch of space along the lip of the lake. As soon as you reach Polson, it begins in earnest. The town jealously hugs the lake with vacation homes, hotels, restaurants and boat ramps. But what tears at Beau's heart, is that it just doesn't end. As the highway parallels the lake on its way north, you see, almost non-stop, building after building in mid-construction. Enormous hotels and bloated family homes. Considering what wages are in this state, it completely boggles my mind how ANYONE is affording to live in these mammoth structures - and there are HEAPS of them! Many Montanans will quickly tell you it's the "fucking Californians" who swoop in, buy up the "cheap" land and build their dream homes upon them (fucking over everyone else whose property tax then skyrockets). I don't know. SOMEONE here has cash. "I used to really love this lake, but it's been overtaken," said Beau.

With the sun beating down relentlessly (I would end up with a sunburnt right arm and thigh from just sitting in the passenger seat for hours), we made it to Kalispell where Beau wanted to stop in a Chinese buffet for lunch. I was skeptical, since I've never been to a good Chinese buffet, but it's just the word "buffet" that draws you in again and again, despite your better judgment. And as I've mentioned to Spongie, I think Thai food has kind of ruined me for Chinese food. The flavors in Thai food are so intense, that when you eat Chinese food afterwards, it's like drinking watered-down Kool-aid. But, it did what food's supposed to do, it filled us up, and we were off again, after a brief stop to pick up some more supplies (we could shop for this stuff FOREVER).

Then we were driving up north, crawling closer and closer to the Canadian border. *waves at Lazuli* Beau began to relax and a look of contentment crossed his face. "I love this country," he said, "I love it out here." For him, it's the towering pine trees you have to crane your neck out of the window to see the tops off, the endless grass, and the backdrop of mountains that never end. And the smell. He often talks about the pine smell out here that he misses so much. To be totally honest, I didn't smell it, though I didn't say so, and at that moment I felt like somehow I wasn't one of the chosen ones.

We finally turned off the highway onto the bumpy, gravely road to Howard Lake. The whole way we didn't see a soul, and every once in awhile we'd make a stop, like at the archaeological site of an old town that was built in 1898 and burnt up by 1910. Besides an interesting sign providing background, the site itself didn't seem to consist of anything at all. It was just another patch of forest. I did see some unidentified berries and picked them. They were like tiny red beads with teeeny dots on them; I believe they were buffalo berries. I had brought two different bird-tree-flower guides with me for just this purpose and was going to take them back to the car to see if they were edible. As a joke, I waited until I was in Beau's line of vision and then purposefully brought the berries up to my mouth. Just as I reached my lips I heard, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, GOOFBALL!?" while simultaneously having the berries forcefully smacked out of my hand, where they sailed in a gleeful arc through the forest, landing silently some distance away. Besides the shock of the smack, and humor at being called goofball at the moment of my potential poisoning, I was also touched. I told you I find everything touching.

After what seemed like a very long time, we reached the entrance sign to the lake. Hooray! Finally! It was after 5pm, so it had been a long day. Our Honda meandered and rocked closer and closer, it was pretty exciting. We were going to camp alone near a giant, secluded lake. We'd cook over a fire, maybe we'd fish, play in the water, who knows? Beau told me the story again about how he had been out on the lake on a boat, not a soul around, and there, right in the water, was a moose! Both a scary and fantastic moment. They're certainly impressive, but not always gentle giants. I thought how great it'd be if *I* could see a moose too!

Just at that moment we rounded the bend and were slapped in the face by the earth-shaking rumble of a generator. An enormous camper trailer was set up at the entrance. A woman (possibly a park ranger) , poked her head out and said, "Are there envelopes in there?" (We would need the envelope to pay for the daily charge for the lake). Beau checked and nodded numbly - he was in shock. The peace of the isolated forest had been dramatically shattered. As we very slowly continued to drive on, we were hit with a continuous onslaught of noise pollution, consisting of barking dogs of all sizes, children running wild, and drunken parents shouting back and forth at each other, and their kids. The place was OVERRUN by campers, camp sights, enormous RV's, etc. By the time we reached the water, Beau's disappointment was so thick, I felt like it had oozed into the pores of my skin. I was heartbroken for him, and a bit bummed out in regards to our plans.

After circling the campsite three times looking for an open camping space, we finally settled at the only one left - one site away from the infamous generator. After getting out, and gazing downhill at the various people and animals milling around, I asked, "When was the last time you were here?"

"Well, it was when S. was 15," Beau mumbled.

"Wait a minute, what?" *J. calculates in her head* "That was 15 years ago!"

"Yeah, I guess it was."

"Oh, Beau."

As you can imagine, there has been some development in the past 15 years, and though Montana may not have grown at the breakneck speed that I've witnessed in Arizona, no giant, gorgeous lake is going to stay Beau's little secret for that amount of time. So, in this day in time, it was time to share the beauty.

So, I pitched the tent (along with air bed and blue blanket), and after Beau created a *cough* diminutive fire, we had a wonderful dinner of steak, brats, beans, and corn-on-the-cob, along with some nice Australian wine.

And despite the crowd (most people had cleared out by the next morning), it is still a rather breathtaking lake, and I am happy we got a chance to see it. It may no longer be secluded, but at least it's now OUR special place.

The Misadventures of J. and Beau - Day 1: Tubin'

This past weekend was our big "First Anniversary Celebration." We've both been pretty excited about it -- for like, forever. It was the first time since March we've both been off from all of our jobs for an entire weekend. It felt like a real goddamn vacation.

We had planned for awhile to go to what I like to call one of "Beau's Special Places." Besides growing up in Montana, Beau has been returning here for the past 25 years, and has camped, fished and boated in all sorts of various lakes, rivers, and streams. I was excited too. Though I am a city girl, I do love isolation (as long as it's not like, endless), and love to be near bodies of water. I was also eager to try fly fishing again. And of course, when you love someone, you're also eager to share in all their special memories and learn of their special places. So, Beau picked out the place -- Howard Lake -- and we formed a plan.

Late Thursday I was to go to Shop-n-Smile and pick up my paycheck - our weekend's entire cash flow. This was due to the fact that our previous paychecks paid for rent and the slew of bills all due around the first of the month. Early Friday morning, we would head out north, cash in hand, car packed up. I called up Shop-n-Smile just to confirm I could do this, and they said sure. But a few hours later, I got a call:

SnS: Hey J., um, because of the 4th of July, UPS won't be delivering our paychecks on time; you can't pick it up until Friday at noon.
J.: Uhhhh
SnS: Here...*reads apologetic letter from UPS*
J.: Fuck.

So, now what? We needed that money for the trip, but didn't want to waste one whole day of our three days, especially since we had quite a road trip before us. Milking the credit cards was not a good option since we were just getting those back on track. So, we got the idea instead to use Friday as tubing day! As the book says, in Missoula, a river runs through it, and as one friend told me, the route is "a beautiful 2 1/2 hour trip!" Nice!

Of course, this just happened to be the record-breaking heat day of all time for Montana. That Friday it would reach 107 degrees. Let me say that again, one hundred and seven degrees! IN FUCKING MONTANA! Due to this, we thought it best if we went later in the day. Right now, the sun doesn't go down until about 10pm, which gives you lots of time for day activities you may have to wrap up earlier in other locales. After we ran 10,000 errands in the oppressive heat, including purchasing two enormous inner tubes, sans air, we headed back home where we collapsed in crumpled, sweaty heaps. It wasn't long before I conked out, Beau first asking me when I wanted to wake up. "When do you want to go tubing?" I asked. "Whenever," was his answer. "Okay fine, wake me up at 5:30pm and we'll go."

This is something stupid about me that I can't seem to learn about living with Beau. 5:30pm to me, means waking up, shaking off sleep, re-pig-tailing my hair, and setting off immediately. 5:30pm to Beau means, continue drinking coffee, continue watching the news, washing those last few dishes, changing his clothes, putting on his shoes (this seems to take about 10-15 minutes), looking around for his car keys, sitting back down at the table to watch some more TV, changing the channel, washing his face, finding his wallet, etc.

Furthermore, I cannot ignore the role of Civ IV in this diabolical situation. Just like me when I'm home alone, Beau likes to have his current game of Civ IV on the computer. The difference between us is our abilities to GET UP and walk away from the game at a needed time. Beau finds this excruciatingly difficult. "Just let me finish off the Germans!" he'll exclaim. I try to be patient with this, because I know how unsettling it can be when there's just...that one....city left to capture. But with Beau, his video form of genocide can take many turns, until I'm contemplating finishing him off myself. And for those who have played Civ, you know that "just three more turns" can turn out to be thirty more minutes, easy.

In the meantime, I am going through an array of negative emotions from ansiness to aggravation to aggression, until I want to pound him over the head with a sledgehammer and drag his molasses-ass downstairs to the car.

I said that I TRY to be patient. I do not always succeed.

Let's just say that by the time our two cars were parked at the gas station and we were s.l.o.w.l.y filling up our ginormous tubes, it was 7:00pm. Beau says it was in part my fault. "You were crabby, so I let you fall back asleep." This is true, but I think he also fails to see how this is not really a good defense on his part.

By 7:30pm we had parked one car at the end point and were just parking another car at the start point, which was in a small parking lot in Lolo, a city 14 miles from Missoula (the one Brad Pitt's character kept gambling and getting the shit kicked out of him in the movie). The lot was just steps from the river, and within a ritzy neighborhood. I can imagine that the residents are just thrilled to have a bunch of screaming, drunken teenagers carousing through their streets every weekend, but by this time of the day, it was just us -- two old dorks.

We were somewhat alarmed to see a sign in the small parking lot announcing that the gate would be locked, (imprisoning our car), at 10:00pm. Doing quick math, with the 2 1/2 hour trip promised by my co-worker, and the 7:30pm start time, we were cutting it mighty close! "Well, I doubt whomever closes the gate is all THAT efficient. He probably won't be here at 10pm sharp! You'll see!" I said with great optimism. We sort of hemmed and hawed for a moment, but neither one wanting to waste the whole day, we set off.

Sure enough, the river was almost bare. There was one small group of people, but otherwise the river was open and inviting. We got in, and after that initial shock of cold faded away, we were off! Well, sort of. Tubing is rarely a swift exercise.

We floated along for awhile, enjoying the ride. There must have been a dozen different birds capering around, from tiny little swallows to a regal bald eagle (spotted by Beau, naturally). We even saw three enormous blue herons at different points, each one screeching in angry protest and taking flight at our presence.

Yet, as we floated along, I couldn't QUITE get to what is the ENTIRE point of tubing - simple relaxation. I would relax for awhile, we'd chat, we'd look at the scenery, which was beautiful, but in the back of my mind I would be thinking, "Can we get to the bridge before it gets dark? What if our car is locked up tonight? I guess we could get it in the morning. STILL."

I'm normally not such a worry wart, but floating down a shallow river in total darkness with all sorts of wild creatures nearby - Hey, there ARE bears! - is daunting. We continued to float - what else are ya gonna do? And it was beautiful, and it was enjoyable, and... we were comical. At different points when we seemed overtaken with doubt, we would slip through the center of the tube, land on the river bottom and commence intense aerobic activity, doing our best to run-walk-jog-trudge through the water. It felt a little foolish, but it's hard to be patient in a meandering river.

*slosh slosh slosh*

Then dusk hit. Besides the reminder of the oncoming night, it also welcomed an onslaught of insects. Particularly, mosquitoes. And if you know me, and my miserable history with the buggers in Thailand (i.e. daily coverings in red welts and my contracting dengue fever at one point), you know I am NOT a fan. If I could perform some kind of spell to instantly rid the world of this blight, I would. Perhaps in our fragile ecosystem they have a purpose - but I know not what it is - and for whatever reason, I seem to be a favorite of theirs. Many a time in Thailand I would be in a room full of people and once the mosquitoes hit, I would end up dotted with painful bites, while most others would remain untouched. It was maddening. The Thais often singsonged, "You have sweet blood, J., sweet blood!" Damn my sweet blood!

Anyway, that went on for about 20 minutes, and after several bites, blessedly lessened. But now the day was descending, and my fears ascending. Beau's too. By now, thankfully, we had started to see signs of civilization on the left side of the river, and some fancy homes on the right. We couldn't be THAT far, but how could you know? The bridge being our end point, it became a game of: "I bet the bridge is right around the next bend!" It was a game we would lose over and over again as it got darker and darker. Fearing being caught in the river too late, we dog paddled and waded to the bank, where we climbed up its super steepness, literally grabbing plants and pulling up, until we reached the top, where Beau with his assuredness, stomped through the scratchy grass, which thwhapped back to sting my bare legs. I didn't even care. I was in worry-mode now, which doesn't feel pain. Well, much pain.

We reached the railroad tracks which paralleled the highway (which the bridge was on). Somewhat of a good sign. Looking ahead in the dim light, we still could not make out the bridge. "How far can it be?" Beau wondered. With nothing else to do, Beau wearing his tube like a giant lei and me like a Miss America sash, and both of us dripping wet, we started off down the tracks. As we walked, both of us jammed our fingers into our tubes' valves in hopes of releasing air before having to put the sizeable things in our non-sizeable Honda. We walked quietly except for the continuous Sssssssssssssssss coming from our tubes, making our own Bizarro World version of Stand By Me. *squish ssssssssss squish ssssssssss*

At one point on the right was a large field with four beautiful horses: two greyish-white, one solid black, and a beautiful "buckskin" of light tan color and a darker mane. "They're going to shit themselves when they get a load of us," said Beau knowingly as we plodded and sssss'd by. They didn't quite have a case of the poopy pants, but they sure seemed surprised by our strange presence. And slowly, after a couple minutes of staring in disbelief, they began to follow us. The curiosity must have just been killing them. I found it touching. But I find just about everything touching. As a former horse breeder, Beau was indifferent. "They're still coming! They're so cute!" I'd exclaim in glee. "Mmhmm," Beau would reply.

And there in the darkness, we finally saw the bridge. Of course, now we had to cross the highway, another daunting task, especially encumbered with enormous inner tubes (the letting out of air had not been terribly successful). We did one of those dumb things where one person shouts, "GO GO GO NOW!" and the other person, because of their split second of hesitation, starts screaming, "NO NO NO! WAIT! DON'T GO!" Guess who was who. ;) We finally did make a mad-ass dash across though, and safe and sound, shuffled exhaustedly to the car. After smashing our tubes into the Honda's tiny trunk and back seat, we took off BACK toward Lolo in hopes of rescuing the Jesus car. And luckily, as I'd predicted (hoped), the gates were still open at 10:30pm when we arrived. So much for the 2 1/2 hour float.

And with that, Beau drove the Jesus car, I drove the Honda, and after picking up a delicious pizza, we drove home in relief.

On Holiday, Part III - Abridged (For Me)

Since I never wrote up my Part III on our vacation, I'm skipping the whole bit in Christchurch and Dunedin. They were fantastic to visit, but since my blogs are now several weeks behind reality in time, I'm going to skip all that. I'll just talk about our last part of the trip which was to Doubtful Sound, an unbelievably gorgeous sound on the western side of the south island of New Zealand.

This was our big splurge of the vacation, and I was pretty excited, not to mention excited that Beau would finally be able to see some landscapes to rival his unrivaled view of Montana. We drove from Dunedin on the east coast to Te Anau, which is basically a resort town pitstop. Most people go on to Milford Sound which is the sound with more infrastructure. Our choice of Doubtful was entirely due to a bunch of senior citizens we met while touring the Cadbury Chocolate factory in Dunedin. You know the types, they're retired, but they're constantly traveling the world in these large tour groups. They're wearing sneakers and comfy clothes in soft colors, and they know their shit. I like them. Beau seems to attract them like bees to a flower. They're always starting conversations with him. Sometimes very LONG conversations in which I have to send Beau about a dozen not-so-subtle "Let's gooooooo" clues.

I find these seasoned travelers far more adventurous than the smug backpackers who think THEY are the only legitimate travelers in the world. I find many backpackers pompous and boring. I did my backpacker thing in Europe when I was 22, and it was a lot of fun, but I did it because I was broke. I didn't find myself any less of a "real" traveler getting the "real" experience five years later in Thailand when I had more money and more comfort to purchase. Besides, as my three years living in Bangkok taught me, backpackers flock together like migratory birds, and the "legitimate experience" they all think they're getting has been completely fabricated for them by clever tour operators. Just because you sleep on a cheap mattress with a mosquito net and go riding an elephant through the jungle doesn't mean you're getting something authentic.

Any "real" experience simply comes from a) learning the language if you don't already, and b) simply living somewhere for an extended period of time and absorbing as much culture as you can. It takes many many years to really get the culture of another country. I barely scratched the surface during my three years in Thailand. BUT I DIGRESS! Obviously, I have issues with some backpackers. *cough* Let's continue on with New Zealand...

Anyway, these old folks told us about Doubtful Sound, how it was the best thing they'd ever seen, etc. and how it was much better than Milford Sound which was more crowded and annoying now. So, instead of heading south to Invercargill like we planned, we detoured and crossed the island to Te Anau.

The tour was a bit pricey, about $230 NZD (about $158 USD) each, if I remember, for the whole day. Oh well, we ARE on vacation! The trip started out in a smaller town of Manapouri on its lake, where we all boarded a large boat, which was really like a gigantic speedboat. It was a pretty chilly day, and we were inside immediately, since the speed of the boat through the lake and the sheer force of the wind was enough to jostle you and jiggle your jowls around quite a bit. But soon, we got brave enough to venture outside because shit, who wants to miss it? The view was unbelievable. I couldn't take enough photos.

This lake ride ended after 50 minutes when we landed on a small island for a bathroom break and a small walk around the center which had up a large display of the history of the area. Mildly interesting, but we just wanted to continue on the tour. On the island we boarded one of three buses. Our tour operator, who had a classier title like, "Wildlife Educator and Facilitator" or some such, gave quite an interesting lesson, dotted with some fantastic dry humor, on the surrounding flora and fauna, as well as some of the pesky vermin, all introduced by early Europeans, that plagued the area. The bus ride was necessary, since it was the only way to reach the sound on the other side. There we boarded another boat, a much larger one, phew, and the tour of the sound began.

It was named Doubtful Sound by NZ's famous explorer/seaman Captain Cook, who was responsible for naming a great many things in New Zealand (if you choose to ignore all the Maori names that were previously in place, of course). And apparently he named many of them erroneously as we've been informed on several different tours. Anyway, this was named "Doubtful" due to the fact that he took one look at the sound and decided it was "doubtful" they could get their ship out of it again if they chose to venture in. Supposedly he was correct on this front.

The tour was a few hours long and for the first couple hours, standing out on deck which we did for most of it, you just oooh and ahhh continuously. The mountains that rise again and again around you seem so rugged, so crazy, just so uninviting that they seem almost magical. I kept looking around trying to spot a place where a hermit could camp out for his days, though he'd have to make some big ass supply trips once in awhile. I have had frequent hermit fantasies myself throughout my life, which probably explains why I have lived alone so easily, and there's always that one of being totally isolated in some gorgeous forest/lake setting. Of course, I know without internet and cable I'd probably go completely bezerko and in the end be an utter failure as a recluse.

After a few hours on deck, with that pounding wind, you go back inside the boat, get some hot chocolate, and kinda decompress a bit. Even the most amazing beautiful tour can kinda get old after awhile, and you get to the point where you say, "Okay, I'm done, can we go back now?" Not one of our species' finer points I think, but true. Beau and I did have a few revivals, like when we approached the giant rock where fur seals were lounging, the rocks where some elusive penguins were aboding (so elusive we never spotted even one), and then my super-revival came when told to look for bottlenose dolphins, which are my absolute favorite animal, and which I was completely DYING to spot. Apparently a particular pod hung out in that area and frequently jumped and frolicked along with the boat. Yes! Sadly, as we began to exit the sound and go out into open sea, the waves were so rough, the boat turned around and headed back. Despite my unwillingness to give up on the dolphins, and secretly hoping that I'd be the one to spot them and alert all others, they were nowhere to be found. That sucked.

Finally, Beau and I did completely retire inside the cabin and just sort of sat there, listening to the two pilots rattle off their tour schpiel, which was honestly fairly interesting, but by that point we were just warming up and resting, half leaning against each other for warmth and support.

On the way back, the boat stopped at the massive Manapouri underground power station, which is an engineer's wet dream, but by this time, Beau and I were worn out and I wasn't all that interested, despite its awesomeness. But we were all forced to travel far far far underground and then walk around a small room which overlooked the whole thing. Mercifully, we were allowed to return to the bus, and finally make the journey all the way back to point A, in Manapouri on the lake, exhausted, but pretty happy about the whole experience.

I had been feeling a bit ooky during the trip, but was so into it all, that I ignored my body and tried to just have the best time I could. I'd pay for that, for when I awoke the next morning I was catapulted into complete illness hell and continued to feel utter misery for most of our long drive home. Living abroad a few times, I have come to believe that you grow somewhat used to your own country's viruses, so when you live somewhere new and get something like a common cold, it hits you with such a ferocious force, that you feel sicker than you ever have. You keep thinking, "Shit, it's just a cold," but you can't believe how incredibly horrible your body feels. Beau went through the same thing, his illness ending just as mine began. I don't know how he did it. Thank god he's is a driving machine and I got to spend the rest of the return trip wallowing in self-pity in the passenger seat. But if that was the price I'd have to pay for the trip, then I gladly paid it.

On Holiday – Yay! – Part II – Whales in the Ocean & Seals on the Side of the Road

After a nice night’s of sleep, we started off southward. Our plan was to drive helter skelter to Dunedin, which is far down the southern island and spend a few days there to see how much we like it (it’s my #1 choice of where to live in NZ), and then drive to the southern tip, Invercargill, and then slowly make our way up, stopping for a couple days in Christchurch, another "big" city which has the potential as a place to settle. We had been told by the locals here that there was "a great place about 45 minutes from Picton" to watch whales. Heheh, it’s typical for people to tell you about a "great place" but never know its name or quite how to get there. Just today, when I was asking a woman at the local pit stop where a good place to fish was, her face screwed up, she said something like, "Umm, yeah, well, I’m not sure how to get there. Do you know where the dump is? There’s like a driveway there…"

Back to the whales. I was pretty excited about this, and as we made a stop in Kaikoura, it was pretty clear from the garden of giant signs around that THIS was the place. We followed one particular series of signs to the ocean where a giant building was set up just for whale watching. I went in and inquired at the desk. For $125, they take you out on a boat for a few hours and guarantee you at least somewhat of a whale sighting, since they use particular equipment that hears the whales underwater, positions the boat just above them, and then patiently waits for the whales to come up for air. A little costly, but to me this is one of those once in a lifetime things that you just never forget. But, this pricey pitstop was not on our list, and I knew I had to compromise…for now. I’ve never been great with money, and get even worse during a vacation. It’s basically because I believe that you should go all-out (*cough* within reason), since vacations are really what form some of your best, most exciting memories.

After emerging from the glossy whale center, I found Beau down by the shore, gazing out to sea with several others. "Look out there," he said, pointing way out into the distance. There, I could just make out some black forms rolling around on the horizon. It wasn’t exactly a part of our travel plans though, and quite expensive, so I told myself that I would quietly wait until our return drive and see how our money situation is, and if I could somehow convince Beau that this is something we must do.

We got back in the car and continued to drive along the coast, which is always beautiful, and always very subtly changing. At one point, with a mountain to our right and the coast to our left, I saw the sign you see in the photo to the right.

"OH MY GOD! There are seals? There are SEALS! Oh my GOD!"

I frantically pressed my nose to the glass to try to spot the dark shapes of the seals. All I saw, on and on and on, were brown rocks.

Wait a minute.

What if the seals weren't black like you see in Sea World, what if they were more brown? The second my brain considered that was the second I spotted one, and I began screaming, "PULL OVER PULL OVER NOW!" A startled Beau pulled over in a spot on the side where a couple of other cars had the same idea. I almost leapt out of the car, camera in hand, in a complete frenzy of excitement. I stood at the edge, and looked down at the rocks and sea below.

At first you see nothing but rocks in various hues of brown. And then, like in one of those stupid optical illusion paintings, your eyes just SEE them. They were there, perhaps HUNDREDS of them, just all basking on the rocks. These fur seals almost perfectly matched the rocks, so Beau and I kept continuously exclaiming, "Look, there's another one!" as they materialized before our increasingly-trained eyes. I began to cautiously pick my way down the rocks to get closer. My digital camera is great, but its zoom sucks, so I wanted to get close. I didn't need to ignore Beau's warnings, for I was scared enough not to get too close. There were a couple bulls around and they looked pretty scary.

So I commenced to take like 100 photos of the fur seals, and we each posed precariously on rocks as close as we dared get to get shots of ourselves with the seals in the background. As I had climbed down a bit for my own shot, I heard what sounded like a senior citizen's cough. I looked around and just saw some female seals motionless on the rocks, except for the occasional cracked eye which would peer at me for a moment and then clamp back shut again.

*cough cough*

Hoarse and strong, I knew it was some sort of warning, but it seemed too comical. Then I spotted it.

It was a little baby seal, the first real small one we'd seen, tucked underneath in a mini-cave-like hole under a rock close by. It obviously saw me as some sort of threat.

"Ohhhhhh how cuuuuuuute!" I was pretty much overcome with cuteness at that moment. I might have actually melted a little bit.

*cough cough* (a bit louder this time)

I didn't get any closer, but knew I needed a photo of it. The little tyke began to bump and lurch his way up and out of the rock space, coughing away, until he got to the top of the rock next to a female whom I assumed was its mother. She cracked an eye again, but seemed bored by the both of us, so continued on with her nap. The tyke continued to make huffing and puffing noises, and I continued to snap away. Here you can see what I believe to be one of the cutest photos of all time.

Finally, Beau dragged me back to the car and we continued on our trip, me babbling away excitedly while reviewing the shots on my camera. It was totally unexpected, and yet it would end up being one of the most special moments on the trip for me.

On Holiday – Yay! – Part I

Although I’ve only been in NZ a brief time, the arrival of "holiday" (two week break in between school quarters) is about as welcome as the warm sun after a long, crazy rain here. We had our car and some money, though not much, and we knew we wanted to see the country. I had a deeper plan myself. As nice as the people here are, and as beautiful as living across from the beautiful ocean is, the remoteness of this location makes it utterly impossible for us to seriously consider settling in this "village." That is the grim reality of it, and though I am enjoying honing my cooking skills, reading, writing, and painting more, and boning up on my French, I am not one of those people who can remain this way forever. I need to work, it’s part of who I am and part of the reason I spent such a colossal chunk of my life in school. Sadly, this extended education also makes me someone who is not so easily marketable except in larger cities where the type of work I can do (higher level administration or teaching in, preferably, the education or non-profit fields) is available. Where we are living now, there is nothing, just nothing for me to do. Besides agriculture, the only single "industries" in town are local versions of a Gas N Sip.

So, my plan, my hope, is to travel to the south island which not only do I prefer, but I strongly believe, Beau will also. Being from Montana, he is a lover of what I call "BIG nature." He likes his mountains to touch the sky and his rivers to wind endlessly on through forests of pine with a deep rich scent (nevermind that he lived in a shitty area of Kansas for many years). I want him to see the beauty and majesty of the south island, AND for him to see the two big cities of it (Christchurch and Dunedin), and hopefully we could find a fit. His love of big nature in the south, and my need to be in a bigger city with more opportunities. And besides, a "big" city in NZ is about 100,000 people, so it’s really just a nice size for us.

I yearn so much for Beau to love it here, and he is struggling so much with culture shock and adjustment. People think that moving to a new country is just one wild, fun-filled adventure, but usually, it’s very difficult, and you spend a lot of time feeling uncomfortable and out of place, which can be very very challenging for anyone. When you are in this constant state of uneasiness, it’s very difficult to feel happy. Constant uneasiness makes you nervous, irritable, stressed, and indecisive. And yet, I believe, as many who have lived as ex-pats do, it’s all worth it. Of course, it’s not all bad; by being in a new place, you also have the natural feelings of curiosity, wonder, surprise, glee, and appreciation. Beau’s problem really isn’t NZ, though it is almost always his target of frustration. Beau’s real problem is his constant state of unsteadiness at the school. He likes the people he works with and he strives honestly to learn, understand, and apply the NZ system to his classes, but the particularly relaxed approach his school has to education, and hyper-focus on preserving/promoting Maori culture (something he can't really participate in anyway) is tough on a rule-based, assessment standards-disciple that is most Americans, and in particular, my beloved Beau.

So, we climbed into the car with our two small bags. Beau will do most of the driving, and I’ll do most of the reading, although I’ll insist I’ll be driving at some point and he’ll insist he will read when he has a chance or inclination to take out his contacts and wear his glasses. But really, he’ll drive, and I will sit next to him and alternate between cooing at the scenery outside the window and reading aloud long stretches from the current Diana Gabaldon book we are reading together.

We planned to leave in the morning and our goal was to go from our home on the northeast coast of the north island of NZ and make the long drive to Wellington at the southern tip of the same island where we’d board a ferry, car and all, and sail across to the south island, all in one day. Beau had just previously convinced me out of wifely duty to accompany him to a semester-end drink at the local bar with other teachers, which ended up being a delightful time with a group of drunk and happy females, and after questioning them about how long it took to drive to Wellington, we got answers between six and twelve hours. Since I’m the reckless one who tends to lean toward the six hour drive and Beau, being more cautious likes to leave at the twelve hour mark, we compromised.

In the end, me with a constant grip on our flip-page road atlas, and Beau driving fast, but never too fast, it ended up being a very tight trip to the ferry, the drama enhanced when I decided to read over our ferry confirmation and suddenly noticed that it required we be there in line a full hour before the boat was scheduled to leave (we were unhappily planning on coasting in about 10-15 minutes before departure – naïve fucks, I know).

But once we made it to blustery Wellington and frantically followed the ferry signs to the check-in point ("THERE IT IS! TURN LEFT TURN LEFT!") and got in line, suddenly we both deflated with relief, got out of the car, and walked to the water’s edge, where we watched our ferry slowly making its way in to shore. It was a pretty exciting moment, and as we drove our car slowly onto the ferry, clanking and banging along the way, I felt pretty thrilled. As soon as people parked their cars inside the massive ship, there was a mad dash up the stairs to the civilized part of the ship, and there was a slight mob dash to the crappy food court where I unintentionally snatched up the last order of fish and chips from a woman with her four wildly indecisive and whiny children who stood in the line ahead of me for a full two or three minutes frozen in her own doubtfulness. I did one of those polite gestures where you kind of point to the food and point to her and mumble "Do you want those? Are you still in line? Can I FUCKING move ahead of you PLEASE?" She seemed to indicate that I could move on ahead, so I grabbed the last order of fish and chips and walked on. I saw her look at me with shocked indigence and realized that somehow I had misread her, but by that time, I kind of didn’t care.

The rest of the trip was uneventful as Beau and I had a so-so meal and then, due to the crazy wind and rain outside, spent the three hour trip playing Civ IV on our laptop ‘til we arrived, late that night, in Picton, New Zealand – the south island.

Phuket Paradise? Part II: Love Lost (Is that a shark?)

So, it’s been awhile, but I’m going to continue my stories on my sort-of recent trip to Phuket, the island paradise (and requisite beach stop of any tourist) in Thailand.

The second day in Phuket was my time to go and do one of these planned adventure trips. Basically, you go up to one of a bajillion tourist operators, who all have the same brochures (go swordfishing! Go white water rafting! Go to the Phuket Fantase show! etc. etc.). I purchased two, and the one I went on first was a trip to Phi Phi island (pronounced “pee-pee,” … yeah, I know) where I was to see many gorgeous mini islands and go snorkeling. They picked me up early the next morning, and in the van was another man who said hello to me. I noticed right away he seemed to have a Scandinavian or German accent, but would have to wait awhile before I found out for sure. The next stop let on a whole slew of crazy young Japanese men, probably around 18-22 years each. Though it was like 8 in the morning, I think they may have been drunk, or probably still hanging on their inebriation from the night before. They certainly found me interesting and tried to make awkward, loud, and “let me impress my buddies” conversation with me. It was partly funny and partly really fucking annoying considering how early it was.

Soon we were at the dock and were loaded onto a very large ship with dozens of other tourists. A long boat ride ensued, which was fantastic. Gorgeous blue water, and these strange “islands,” some like a real small island size, and others almost like giant pieces of rock jutting defiantly out of the ocean, covered in green vegetation. They were all different shapes and were just sitting there in the middle of the ocean, not in view of any mainland or large islands. Just there. We passed dozens of them and I never grew tired of the beautiful view. I had another good view too. The young man in the van had turned out to be a Norwegian (hooray! I love Scandinavian men), and was not only good-looking, but interesting, considerate, and funny. In fact, in a weird twist of fate, he kind of looked like the Nordic version of the ex-love-of-my-life, a New York Jewish guy (I know, but I swear, the connection was there!). They had similar faces, bodies, and smiles. Anyway, this guy was different enough for it not to be weird or make me think I was doing some strange subconscious replacement.

I couldn’t believe my luck. As I have mentioned more than once, living in Bangkok is a total disaster for a single, white female. One other remarked that “we white women” feel “invisible” since no white man wants to date us and the Thai men see us more like a trophy. I don’t know how much I agree with that, but I have never found living here even remotely easy in the romance department. Since Western men are basically sucked off the arriving planes and scuttled away by eager Thai women and Thai men, I’ve found, tend to be embarrassingly immature and difficult to communicate with, dating here is….complicated. I’ve had to placate myself with the occasional Western man (mistake), the occasional Thai man (disappointing), and the occasional ex-lover flying into town (fantastic, but fleeting).

Anyway, so here I am on this beautiful ocean, the air is very hot but the wind is strong and this guy is great! He keeps offering to buy me drinks (no, not get me drunk, Pepsis and water too), and has even mentioned that I’m lovely. *cheer* We are occasionally interrupted though by this gaggle of older Japanese women. About every 20 minutes, one confidently strides up to me and motions that she wants to take a photo with me. So there I am having my picture taken, flanked by these Japanese women in their sun hats and big sunglasses. They never ask the Norwegian guy, in fact, they purposefully push him aside. Do they think I’m a celebrity? I have lived in Thailand awhile and had a lot of interest in me for various reasons, but I have never had strangers walk up to me and demand a photo. It was all very strange and very amusing.

Anyway, the young man and I are talking for a couple hours and are sharing our lives. After mentioning this gay friend of mine, I must have given him the cue he needed, because he reveals that he too is gay, and has been in a relationship for like four years with some gorgeous Swedish man.

*SOB*

“Oh, the humanity!” [sic]

I felt like a big, shiny balloon slowly deflating. Of course, I couldn’t change my positive feelings toward him just because I wouldn’t be able to sleep with him now. I tried to be mature about the whole thing, and I was, but still. What a shitty deal. No wonder I have so many gay friends. I think I attract them with some secretion I must put out. I’m obviously not putting anything out to any heterosexuals here, ‘cause I’d sure put out if I could! I’m no slut, but I’m no nun either. Though if I don’t get out of here soon, I might as well be.

Nevertheless, the trip must go on, and since he and I were on different tours, we separated once we got to Phi Phi island. I was truly sad to see him go. And I went on to a lunch, some time on the island, and finally to another smaller boat to go out snorkeling. It was the first time in my life that I have successfully snorkeled (I have some difficulty snorkeling/scuba diving because of the breathing), and thank GOD it worked this time! It was absolutely amazing. There I was, floating at the top of the water, looking down at sea floor just 10-25 feet below. It was like pressing your face up to a page in a Jacques Cousteau book. It seemed so unreal to see things you’d see on a documentary or in a glossy coffee table book just suddenly there in front of you. Sea urchins, coral, various brightly colored fish, and even some sort of snake at one time….which led to an slightly embarrassing moment.

After seeing the snake, and not knowing if that was a GOOD thing, I quickly turned around and quickly pumped my finned-feet back to the boat. As I got closer, I shouted up to the guy, “There was a snake, a snake. Is that dangerous?” I said it all in Thai, but “snake” was said in English (they know it by the English name as well). A Russian man swimming nearby heard me, but somehow heard, “shark” instead of “snake” and began to totally panic. Without fins, he frantically swam back to the ship, terrified. He finally was set straight and relaxed a bit. The Thais, in their typical way, told me, “Oh yeah, they’re dangerous. Just try to stay away from them.”

Oh, okay.

It was fantastic anyway, and after a long day, I returned home. Horribly sunburnt, but happy. More on the sunburn later. *shudder*

Phuket Paradise? Part I: Galloping Heroine Loses It

In Thailand, Phuket is known as the default southern destination. The south is full of dreamy-looking islands and a magnet for those into scuba diving. I, myself am not much of a scuba diver, for two reasons. One, I've never been rich. Scuba diving is like photography, oil painting, snow skiing, etc., where you have to invest quite a bit of money just to be involved. I hate shit like that. One great thing about Thailand is that I've been able to fairly easily afford oil paint here, since it's about 1/5 the price it is back in the U.S. Well, everything is about 1/5 the price it is back home, which is why, maybe one day I will be able to scuba dive. The second reason I don't scuba dive is that I have a suffocation phobia. No kidding. I'm actually beating it, and I think I'm almost over it, but it's taken my whole life. This will show up anywhere on day 2 in Phuket which comes later.

I decided on Phuket for a couple reasons. One, it's kind of like living in NYC and never going to the Empire State Building or living in Paris and never going to Louvre or going to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I've never been much of a beach person, since I find that I get quickly bored sitting on a beach, and I tend to burn...quite painfully....despite lavish applications of SPF 10,000. But, I won't be in Thailand forever, and my mother who is coming several months for now, has refused to go to any island location, preferring the dangerous and exciting-sounding "Burma" as her choice.

When I told my friends I was heading to Phuket, they kind of wrinkled their noses and went, "Eww." Not because Phuket is gross, but like any "native" who lives in Thailand, it's kind of an undesirable place to go. Someone who really knows Thailand doesn't go to Phuket! Phuket, full of white faces, Thai prostitutes, its massive over-development geared toward the dollar-clutching tourist. Those who REALLY know, go to the more remote areas, those with the mosquito net and the fan for lodging, those where there are no white faces (save their own) to be seen, those places that are more "pristine."

Whatever! You know, call me what you will, but I do like things to be a LITTLE bit easy. Fuck, if I'm going to ride a bus for TWELVE hours to get to the damn place, I don't want to be welcomed by a straw hut that is never quite cool enough, except when you're taking your ice-cold shower. I don't want to go to an island where the infrastructure is so thin, that there is nothing I can do with myself except..sit on the damn beach! I want to do stuff! And I need the organization to be set up to allow me to do that. I don't care that that view is not popular, especially with the backpackers. Well, that's FINE, because to me, a backpacker is only a nasty hippie with giant bag strapped to its body. They pinch pennies in such a way, when it comes to accomodation and food, that even Thais go, "Damn, what's wrong with these people?" I met someone once who produced a popular map in Bangkok. He said that it never did sell well on Khao San road (this is the mecca of all backpackers in Bangkok, teeming with them getting drunk and getting their hair braided or made into dreadlocks - ugh!). This mapmaker once said, "I don't get it, they won't spend $2 for my map, but they'll spend sixty fucking dollars for beer." There you go. I don't want to hang out with these people. I'd rather be a snob with my air conditioning (usually only $5-10 more in cost), and go on an organized excursion.

And that's what I did. Hour after I arrived I had already been picked up by a minivan (a really mini van, not one of those fantastically disgusting monsters that lumber all over the roads in American suburbia) and was happily bouncing up and down the hills toward the Phuket Riding Club. When I get to a new tourist destination, there are two things I always want to see more than anything: dolphins or horses. I know, sounds silly, but it's true. I love to ride horses, though I'm not very good at it. And dolphins to me are just a magical, wonderful animal. In New Zealand I "swam with dolphins," in water so cold, that it gave me instant images of the sinking Titanic. Incredible experience.

So, there I was, galloping down the beach like a 19th century European heroine. Hair streaming in the wind, (well, I was wearing a helmet), and my skirt flowing behind me (I was wearing jeans). It was exciting, though frightening. With each step, my tourist bag banged into me with such force, that it distracted me from the romantic imagery floating through my mind. (At this moment I still have two scabs on my hand to show for it). At some point, after a particularly energetic gallop, I looked down and noticed that one section of my touristy-bag was completely unzipped, apparently from the fervor of my horse's run. Whatever had been in there, was now, GONE! *gasp* I frantically started unzipping the other pockets (these tourist bags have 55 zippered pouches each), to see what was missing (#1 in my mind, my money!). Well, no, my money was there, my disposible camera was okay, and even my sunglasses were there.

Phew!

Wait a minute...the two receipts for excursions I had already paid for seemed to be gone. Well, that was not good, but it wasn't a total tragedy. My receipts were only receipts, they still knew I was going. Still, my guide and I retraced ourselves carefully, despite the fact that the tide was now coming in and had advanced quite a bit in the short time we'd gone by. Sadly, no receipts. Ahh well.

An hour or so later, with my first sunburn (arms and face), I was deposited at my bungalow and felt pretty good. I opened my bag to get out my wallet and... you know what comes next. Gone! My wallet had been in that pocket that had emptied itself somewhere on the Phuket beach! *sob* Not only was a bit of money in there, but more importantly, my ATM card (argh) and my driver's license, which believe it or not, was good until the year 2038! Losing one's ATM card is never a warm and fuzzy feeling, not to mention I would spend $40 in phone calls to the US canceling it hours later. I had called back the horse ranch, asking the guide to retrace our steps again, this time looking for my tiny black wallet (my wallets always resemble the kind men stick in their back pockets, not the giant beasts women tend to carry). The young guide said he couldn't find it...damn damn damn.

Is that the end of the story? Well, no. I did have the ATM card for my savings account, so I was not left high and dry. That night, burnt and dejected from the missing wallet, I showered and headed toward a very nice restaurant. I tend to spend money to make myself feel better (big surprise), and a wonderful meal was just what I needed. The restaurant, Sala Bua, was just what I needed. Sitting on the beach, with warm lighting and beautiful wooden furniture, and best of all, fantastic food. The meal was almost perfect until.... *ring ring ring* The horse guide was phoning me. Maybe they found my wallet! I answered the phone and soon realized that no, he had not found my wallet, but he had found a discotheque and was very interested in showing it to me. Oh, just great. Now, my Thai isn't fantastic on my best day, and here in the South, it was even more difficult to understand. Of course, after a long and painful conversation where I must have said, "I don't understand you" in Thai, about 12 times, I got the gist of it all, and kind of panicked. I did NOT want to go out with this guy, but if I was a bitch and spurned him, would I ever get that precious wallet back? Finally, the phone call ended, but that was not the end of it. Again and again my phone flashed "HORSE" (what I had programmed into the phone to identify the horse guide's calls). I answered the phone three more times before I told him (again and again in my unimpressive Thai) that I was NOT alone, I was with a friend, and yes, he was a boy. Finally, HORSE stopped calling...at least until the next day, when he made one last ditch effort at midnight. That time, I didn't answer.