We are home now. I found my SPF lip balm. It was on the coffee table.
And we are back just in time- it is supposed to snow tomorrow!
You know who else would be excited about the snow? Powder.
Powder is the polar bear that graced the wing of our plane this afternoon. Much better than Joe-Bob the badger, imho. (Though the flight crew might not have concurred- they did not introduce him during the safety announcement this time; I had to google it when I got home.)
It was an interesting plane flight today all around. First of all, did you know that Stroopwafels are available for purchase as part of Frontier's "Breakfast on the Fly" offering? Regular readers of this blog* already know about the international delicacy that is the Stroopwafel.
There was also quite the interesting cast of characters** onboard with us.
A girl (approximately 13 years old?) carried on three stuffed animals, all cats. This seemed like a rather liberal interpretation of either the one personal item rule or the therapy animal rule.
The guy in the window seat of our row started mumbling to me towards the end of the flight, which I did not notice initially because my eyes were close and my earbuds were in. He wanted us to get up so he could go sit by his friend. "This way you girls can have more room," he mumbled (I think). His friend was sitting a few rows ahead, in a window seat, with no one in his middle or aisle. This was very nice of the guy to offer but why did he wait until the captain announced we were beginning our descent to do so?
My favorite was the man sitting two rows behind us, who, prior to takeoff, asked the flight attendant if she was the one who made the landing announcement. He explained that he would like her to say "we will be landing shortly" rather than "we will be on the ground shortly" because there are many ways to reach the ground, and not knowing if the plane was going to use 'landing' to do so gives him anxiety.
These are real people.
Then again, I seriously considered asking the flight attendant for one of the Frontier trading cards***, so maybe I should reign in on the judging a little bit.
Most importantly, the flight got us home safely, on time, and with our luggage, and for that I am of course grateful. Flying is wonderful and vacations are wonderful, but home is wonderful too.
*Hi Mom!
**Speaking of interesting cast of characters, our book club selection for this month was The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, by Agatha Christie. I finished it yesterday- as Emily pointed out, a new record for days reading was completed in advance of actual book club meeting date- and it was really good. Check it out.
***They are probably intended for children but age was not specified in the seat-back booklet which advertised the cards' existence.
A week or so before we left for this vacation, Mom suggested that it might be a good idea to rent a car. I concurred. The resort we'd be staying at looked to be a good distance from the airport. There would be a small town about a mile down the road, but it was unclear how often or reliably the local "safari bus" ran. Taxis were a possibility but could get expensive quickly, and walking to town didn't sound like a real viable option. So Mom set about to reserve the car, provided I would agree to drive it.
See, they drive on the left side of the road in the Virgin Islands.
I said yes and figured it would be an adventure.
When we landed, our little red Ford Focus* was waiting for us. Things didn't get off to a tremendous start owing to my driving out of the lot with the parking brake on.
(Which, really- why? I feel like this should not be held against me.)
Once I'd gotten the parking brake off (and put the car in D instead of L**), the transition out of the airport and on to the real roads was actually pretty smooth. You drive on a one-way road that merges gently from the left into the two-way traffic.
Ugh, but then you have to make a turn.
So as I discovered during my four days puttering around, driving in the left lane isn't that hard. It's just like driving in the passing lane of a two-lane road. What is much more difficult is navigating turns from the left lane. You have to really think about which way traffic is coming from, and which lane you need to go toward, and convince your brain that what it wants to do is wrong. I was honked at more than once for not turning left quickly enough. And the roundabout! Those are complicated enough when I'm driving at home!
I'm happy to report that there were no major incidents, though, and actually the most challenging part of driving had nothing to do with what side of the road I was on. The most challenging thing was the actual roads themselves.
The islands of St. Thomas and St. John are small and hilly. To get from point A to point B, one has to follow the terrain, which usually means going up and over. And in such a compact space...have you ever wondered what it would be like to drive in MarioKart but for real?!?!
Imagine careening down a 45 degree slope, and also making a hairpin turn halfway through. Or coming over the crest of a hill so steep that you can't see which direction the road continues until you get there. And the speed bumps! They really like their speed bumps. Potholes too- the abandoned red and green shells of the course, if you will.
Another unique driving experience was taking the car ferry over to St. John. They are only able to load and unload the ferry from one end. Therefore, in order for cars to drive off the ferry facing forwards, those cars have to load the ferry facing backwards. It is already a little nerve-wracking driving your vehicle onto a barge that's listing just ever-so-slightly back and forth. Having to do so backwards, and then having to fit the car in a narrow lane and within a foot of the car behind you, just seems like a lot to ask. And when I really thought about it...wouldn't it be easier to back off the ferry? Because the spacious parking lot where you'd make the Y turn would be more forgiving to a small error than the cramped boat, no?
But all's well that ends well. I managed to successfully navigate the ferry situation both to and from St. John, and felt like, overall, the driving on the left and in the hilly terrain went fine.
(This minor damage to the rental car might tell a different tale, but it popped right back in so MOVE ALONG FOLKS, NOTHING TO SEE HERE.)
*It was little and red like Stella but it was NOT Stella. It smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke and was not nearly as fuel-efficient. I called him Stanley instead.
Now that I have been to all 50 states, I've turned my attention to additional challenges*. Among them is visiting all 59 of our national parks. I've only been to 22 so far, and getting to all of them will be a tall order. (There's at least one in Alaska that is so remote it has no roads in or to the park- you have to take a bush plane! But it does have bears so I think it'll be worth checking out.) (There's also one in American Samoa. Hmm. That could be tough.)
Today I got to cross a big one off the list, though, as we went to Virgin Islands National Park.
As you can see, our selfie game at the park headquarters was not on point. It was blindingly sunny, hence the sunglasses, but the glasses made it impossible to see the phone screen. Also, my mom's hair...
Virgin Islands National Park is located on St. John, one of the three main US Virgin Islands. (We are staying on St. Thomas; the third is St. Croix which unfortunately we won't have time to visit this trip**.) To get there we took a pleasant half hour car ferry ride across Pillsbury Sound. Looking back as we crossed, we got a nice view of the condo we are staying at.
Upon arrival in St. John, we took the above terrible selfie and chatted with the park rangers to get their suggestions for the day. Also did a little shopping at park headquarters but I really feel that those purchases support a good cause so it's fine that I bought three different things. Maybe four***.
Next we drove along the north shore of the island, and stopped at the scenic vistas along the way, each more picturesque than the last. Here I am at the overlook of Maho Bay.
I mean, seriously.
We continued driving, and made our way to the ruins of the Annaberg Sugar Mill. The buildings were cool and the views were great, but the best part is that there was an interpreter there sharing traditional food and drink! Though there's a slight possibility that the methods of preparation they used might not have been completely authentic to the 1700s.
The "local drink" was delicious and tasted like Kool-Aid. Oh. Yeah.
After a brief stop for lunch, we returned to Maho Bay, this time to the beach. There were several snorkelers in the water, so after setting up our towels and chairs, we waded into the water to see what the fuss was all about. And it was a pretty sweet fuss- there were several sea turtles out swimming around!!! I probably saw at least four different ones, at distances of 15 yards away to as close as a couple of feet! It was truly incredible.
The day concluded with some more relaxing on the beach. I will now watch this video whenever I am having a stressful day, and would encourage you to do likewise.
*Others include seeing each MLB team play a game at their home stadium (19/30), and visiting all of the Big Ten campuses (11/14). Can I interest anyone in a trip to Tampa, Oakland, Houston, Arlington, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Denver, Phoenix, San Diego, LA, San Francisco, Iowa City, East Lansing, or Piscataway???
**Even more so because they have the rum factories, and we all know how much I love factory tours. And rum.
***To be fair, the fourth item was lip balm with SPF 20 rating because I might have left mine at Mom's house, or it might have fallen out on the plan, who can know for sure. And sunburnt lips are the worst. And probably unhealthy. And the lip balm tastes like coconut.
They are pretty red right now, though not as red as Emily's knees. And I really can't complain about a sunburn, since the forecast was for rain all week and instead we woke up to this-
So, yeah, St. Thomas is awesome!!!
We arrived yesterday in the late afternoon. It was a little humid- we could tell it had very recently rained when we got off the plane- but it has since dried out.
Today was completely gorgeous. We started the day with breakfast at Margaritaville. I thought I was fairly knowledgeable re: the Margaritaville franchise, as I have dined in their establishments in other tropical destinations, but this was something a little different. It was a whole Margaritaville-branded resort. Jimmy Buffett must have more money than God at this point.
The restaurant and resort were actually both very nice, and the location right on the beach was lovely, but the food was just meh.
After breakfast we returned to our resort, and hit our beach.
Other than to occasionally go in the water, I did not move for several hours.
I mean, can you blame me?
Sunburn? Worth it. Skipping lunch? Worth it. Sharing the beach with two iguanas* and this weird old guy? Um...
We finally pulled ourselves away from the beach** in the late afternoon, and did a little exploring of the island. We made our way to Drake's Seat to watch the sunset. Per my vast internet research:
The bench is named after the British privateer Sir Francis Drake, who is said to have used the bay as an anchorage point for his ships and may have climbed to this vantage point as a way to identify ships to later plunder.
The sunset was kind of a bust as the bench faces north; equally disappointing, we did not see any plunderable ships.
So we headed to a different overlook, this one facing roughly southwest over the city of Charlotte Amalie, and watched the sun go down from there.
All in all, was a pretty great day! Now if the lady in the condo next to ours ever gets off the phone, I'll get some sleep and get ready for another busy day tomorrow. I am definitely putting sunscreen on all extremities tomorrow.
*Picture was taken while lying on my beach towel and with no zoom. That iguana was like 2 feet from me. Weird old guy was also closer than I would have preferred.
**So there I was, ready to leave the beach, when we learned that it was just one beach down the road from the location used to film the Hannah and her Horse DirecTV commercials!!! Which you know Emily & I have been quoting nonstop since then. (https://youtu.be/EVgp62LGYr0, if you need a refresher)
The best part of flying Frontier is finding out which animal is on your plane's wing. What would it be this time? A moose? An eagle? Maybe a dolphin, since the plan is headed to Florida? Or maybe I'd hit the jackpot and get one of the bears?!?!
😒
The badger's name is Joe-Bob, in case you were wondering. No, I didn't ask. The flight attendant included it in the pre-flight safety announcement.
I don't have to go that far back, relatively speaking, to find my family's most recent immigrant.
My great-grandmother, Maria, came to the United States from Hungary in 1910. That is not that long ago. I know it seems like a long time, but it's not. It was only 70 years before I was born. Now I am halfway to 70 years old myself.
I don't know much about my great-grandmother, except that she lived in the apartment above my mom's family's in New York City, and she made lunch for my mom every day during school. She spoke Slovak and taught some to my mom, including (I think) the Lord's Prayer but (I don't think) any of the swear words.
(Maria is second from the left, sometime in the 1920s.)
She married an immigrant, John, who came to the US in 1898. Her daughter would marry the son of immigrants, Robert and Rose*, who came to the US in 1908 and 1906, respectively. Her granddaughter would marry into another family of immigrants, my dad's, from which I have relatives who came from Germany as long ago as 1845 and as recently as 1882.
Maria was 20 years old when she came to America. In some ways I cannot comprehend this**. She stepped on a boat and left everything she knew on the shore behind her. Her family, her friends, her entire culture. She gave all of that up, and for what?
Even though we never met, I know that it was, at least in small part, for me.
My life is unquestionably better for having been born in the US. I am lucky and privileged and objectively believe I have it easier than 99% of people on the planet. I've always known I can do and be anything I want. I have a TV that beams college football into my living room like 5 days a week, I live close enough to a Target that I will never want for lack of M&Ms, and in all honesty, the worst thing I have to worry about in my life right now are the two weddings coming up next year for which I do not have a date***. So I know I have it pretty good. And I owe that to people like my great-grandmother, who didn't have it easy, who instead spent her life surrounded by others who didn't wear the same clothes, or celebrate the same holidays, or even worship the same god.
I am my great-grandmother's American dream. And I am not the only one. We all came from people who came from somewhere, which is why I find myself today pondering the question: How did we become this self-loathing nation of immigrants?
There were so many factors to this election, and I'm not all that political so I'm certainly not an expert on any of them. But our forthcoming response to Syrian refugees, a call for a ban on Muslims entering the country, and the generalization of Mexicans as rapists and drug users...those were issues that spoke to me. I feel like they're representative of the bigger picture, of how we treat other people. Especially those less fortunate than us. Especially those who just want the same opportunities we were, in many ways undeservedly, already given.
I understand that in order to win an election, a candidate must appeal to a wide variety of citizens. So no matter how reprehensible I find it, I understand the president-elect's strategy. He cast a wide net, and in doing so, gave voice to bigots and homophobes and extremists. In motivating his citizens to go to the polls, he told these deplorable people what they wanted to hear. He said appalling things, and normalized behavior that was vile and demeaning. He proved his character to be so unfit to lead our nation, that nearly every newspaper in the country endorsed Clinton, including several who'd never before endorsed a Democrat or endorsed any candidate at all.
In retrospect, what all this insane rhetoric overshadowed was the fact that he also tapped into the very real, very legitimate insecurities of a number of disenfranchised citizens. People who are underemployed, or have lost their jobs completely (to foreign workers, no less), started listening to him. He gave them reason to believe he could make their lives great again, and in turn, could improve the lives of their children, and their children's children. And if he had offered actual, real solutions to these economic woes, maybe it would have been acceptable! But the thing is, he didn't offer any real solutions, just hate and indiscriminate blame.
Maybe I am idealistic, or maybe I have just watched The American President too many times:
"And whatever your particular problem is, I promise you, Bob Rumpson is not the least bit interested in solving it. He is interested in two things, and two things only- making you afraid of it, and telling you who's to blame for it. That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you win elections."
I don't believe that everyone who voted for the president-elect yesterday is a racist or a misogynist, though many of them clearly are and that is disgusting. But what breaks my heart is this- how bad must things be to be able to look past all of these glaring character flaws, and vote for the guy anyway? How hopeless do you have to feel to be able to reconcile such repulsive statements with your own values? I truly believe most of the people who cast those votes this week knew they were voting for a reprehensible person, a person whose character does not reflect their own, but who felt they needed to ignore that in order to bring about the change they are so desperately seeking in their own life.
I hate that it's led now to such divisiveness. The prevailing phrase now seems to be that America "was more divided than we thought". But I'm not sure it's so simple. I don't think this election shined a spotlight on millions of xenophobic people who'd previously been in the shadows. I think this election gave a bullhorn to a couple of hundred zealots, and that bullhorn legitimized their beliefs.
It made it okay to hate other people.
I thought I lived in a country that valued individuality, tolerance, and respect, and although on the whole I think I still do, I am acutely aware now that the whole is not necessarily the total sum of its parts. For those who want someone to hate, the easiest targets are naturally the people who they were told are to blame for their problems. The people who took the job they could have taken, to make a better life for their great-grandchildren. The people who don't wear the same clothes, or celebrate the same holidays, or worship the same god. The ones people have given up their entire culture to make a better life for their great-grandchildren.
Our American experience is so universal.
This song came up on my iTunes yesterday, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head since. It is originally by Paul Simon, and is performed here by Eva Cassidy. The video is a little cheesy, so just close your eyes while you're listening.
I don't know a soul who's not been battered Don't have a friend who feels at ease Don't know a dream that's not been shattered Or driven to its knees oh but it's alright It's alright You've lived so well so long When I think of the road we've traveled on So far away from home So far away from home
****
This week was sad and shocking, I think partially because idealistically, we don't want to believe that we as a nation were capable of this, but also realistically because no one expected it. Clinton was up by double digits in most polls, and had more than a 60% chance of winning. The explanation we've been given for this mass miscalculation is the failure to account for "silent voters". Those people who, when asked by pollsters, wouldn't admit who they were voting for.
I have to believe that on some level, they knew that the act they were committing within the anonymity of the voting booth was wrong.
And this may sound incongruous, but that actually gives me a small measure of hope. It means that if they knew that what they were doing was wrong, maybe at some point in the future they will be open to changing their mind and doing what is right.
Indeed, the best thing I saw all week was this tweet:
Here are the election results if only millennials voted... Progress is the longterm future of this country for both parties. pic.twitter.com/8TxWcD7tg5
Maybe this is too simplistic. Like I said, I'm not that political. I don't know what the future holds. I sincerely hope that things get better, now that people's voices have been heard, but do I think the president-elect can make that happen? Not really. That makes me even more nervous because where do these people turn next?
Or, even more terrifying, do they get that opportunity? Am I over-dramatizing the situation by asking if this is the last open and fair election of my life?
I hope not. I hope we evolve. That we become better, more empathetic people. I hope four years from now we elect someone who can spur economic prosperity and who reflects our values- I know those people are out there. And I hope that when all is said and done, the United States will be a place that immigrants will be welcomed into, to start their American dream alongside those of us fortunate enough to have had a great-grandmother Maria do it for them those not-so-many years ago.
*Okay, so this is one of my favorite stories. In college one of my good friends studied abroad in Ireland, and I went to visit her. While I was planning the trip and telling my mom about what we were going to do, she casually asked "Are you going to go visit your relatives?" I asked her what on earth she was talking about, because, to my knowledge, we were not Irish. "Sure we are!" she said. "Your great-grandma Rose was from Ireland!" I was 20 years old and had literally never heard the words 'great-grandma Rose' in my life. So she explained that Rose McCabe (yes! that is actually her real name!) was from Ireland and therefore we still had relatives there and I was one eighth Irish, a fact which has since greatly increased my appreciation for and participation in St. Patrick's Day festivities, well, mostly just the wearing green but also I guess the drinking. Anyway. I asked Mom why we'd never heard of this great-grandma Rose from Ireland, and as it turns out, it was a little scandalous! Rose was Irish, which meant Catholic, and she'd married an Englishman, which meant Protestant. They had to run off to the Caribbean to get married!!!
**I mean, what was I doing at 20 years old? (That is sort of rhetorical but if you want to get specific, see above-referenced trip to Ireland and imagine zero responsibilities and quite a bit of Bulmer's Irish Cider.)
***I am open to suggestions on the date front, so if you or someone you know enjoys eating champagne chicken, wearing a suit and making small talk with strangers, please don't hesitate to get in touch! I promise I won't talk politics at all and will instead spend most of the night just dancing really, really poorly.
****Immediately after this song played, Crazy by Britney Spears popped up, and both of these songs, back-to-back and available at my fingertips anytime I want, reminds me that although we do have problems, America is already so great.
As of last summer, here's about all I could have told you about the Ryder Cup: 1. It is golf*. 2. The iteration played a couple of years ago became known, if you're European, as "The Miracle at Medinah", but if you're American, as "The Meltdown at Medinah". Apparently we lost in crushing fashion. Medinah is somewhere in the United States but I can't be more specific than that. Then last fall, I found out that the 2016 Ryder Cup was going to be held in Chaska, on a course about an hour from my house. On a whim, I signed up for the ticket lottery. I've never been to a golf tournament, and I certainly didn't feel qualified to attend something as prestigious as the Ryder Cup, but signing up for the ticket lottery was free so what the heck. A short time later I received an email outlining the ticket lottery procedures. Due to the extreme demand for tickets, a random selection process would take place to determine who would have an opportunity to purchase tickets. If I was lucky enough to get selected, I would be assigned to a group and given a window to purchase from whatever tickets were still available. Two long months went by, but in early December I got a congratulatory email from the PGA, informing me that my registration had been chosen from the waitlist! And placed in Group K! My window to purchase tickets would open the following Wednesday!!! I got to work assembling my entourage. Emily was immediately on board with going, if for no other reason than, quote: "That Rory, he's adooooorable!" Mike and Kiki, legit golf enthusiasts, were also in. I also invited a friend(?) who loves golf more than anyone I've ever met. Loves watching it, loves playing it, everything. When we met, and for several months afterward, both his Twitter bio and header pictures were of him golfing**. In July of this year, he wrote a long form, minute-by-minute account of the Open Championship. He even spearheaded a (one-man) campaign to get his favorite golfer named to the Ryder Cup team. So yeah, he really, really likes golf and...he turned me down. This made me feel as pathetic as Jordan Spieth at the 2016 Masters. If you don't speak golf, Jordan Spieth at the 2016 Masters translates to major loser***. Fine, whatever, I'd only be allowed to purchase four tickets per session anyway. Wednesday arrived and I surreptitiously snuck my phone out during the mandatory work meeting I was forced to attend enjoying and fully engaged in because work is awesome! I logged on to the PGA ticketing web site and somehow, even all the way down in Group K, was able to select four all-day passes for the Saturday session. I could barely believe my luck, and completed the transaction as quickly as possible. And so that is how I found myself wearing red, white and blue Zubaz, waiting in line for the complimentary Ryder Cup shuttle bus, just before 7:00am, with an astonishingly but perhaps not unexpectedly high number of white people****. Oh, the Zubaz. Let me explain.
.@HereComes_Emily & I are watching the Masters & started discussing our Ryder Cup apparel options. Masters fans seem very stylish & pastel.
Okay, so the shuttle bus drove through the corn fields of southern Minnesota, and dropped us off at Hazeltine National Golf Club. At this point, I was really relying on Mike to take the lead, as this was maybe the third time in my life I've been on a regulation (i.e. non-mini) golf course. Thankfully he was up to the task. We got the Ryder Cup app to work just long enough to pull up a course map, and set off to the far end of the first hole, which was pretty cool.
I believe that's either Jimmy Walker or Zach Johnson teeing off there. But to be honest I can't be sure; I should have taken notes while I was out there because the zoom on the iPhone***** leaves much to be desired. Mike strategized that it was early enough to head to one of the mid-course holes and maybe beat some of the other fans to a good viewing spot. We selected Hole 8, both because the hole was mid-course and short enough to see both the tee shots and the green, and because we were able to find it. This turned out to be a great decision, and I'd have to say our time at Hole 8 was my favorite part of the day. We did get a good viewing spot, and the hole layout was really very pretty-
It provided our first glimpse of the aforementioned Rory McIlroy-
We got to cheer and get just a little rowdy when Phil Mickelson drained this 50 foot putt-
And then we got to watch what we're pretty sure was Phil chastising Rickie Fowler for setting up such a difficult putt in the first place-
Fun times. (Full disclosure- Hole 8 was not Mike's favorite hole of the day. He was very concerned that the antennae on my star-spangled head band were blocking other people's view, and did not think that my response of "well then they should have gotten here early enough to not be behind me" justified my not taking the headband off.) (I mean, it is possible that he was mostly concerned that the antennae were blocking his view.)
After Hole 8, we headed toward Hole 16. Alas, so did everyone else. So we went to Hole 17 instead. This was actually pretty great because we were able to stand right up against the rope, fairly close to the tee box. Hole 17 is where we spied team captain Davis Love III and his sweet red kicks (seen here ignoring the crowd and probably doing something extremely vital to ensuring team success on his phone.)
We also got to see Jordan Spieth and Patrick Reed lose this hole to Sergio Garcia and Rafa Cabrera Bello, which I'm sure had nothing to do with Tiger Woods lurking judgingly in the background the whole time.
And thus ended the morning rounds. We headed next to Hole 7. Since there was a break and it would be quite some time before the players arrived for their afternoon four-ball matches, we figured we could secure a good spot, and have some lunch and a nice little sit while we waited for play to resume. The thing is, a lot of other people figured that too. So we secured an okay spot. It was not right up against the rope as we would have liked, but it was sort of in the middle so we could in theory see the entire hole. (In actual practice, other peoples' heads made it kind of difficult to see the tee shots, but, to an earlier point, if I wanted to see that badly, maybe I should have gotten there early enough to not be behind them.) Hole 7 was neat because apparently it's Hazeltine's iconic hole. And it's position along a creek and right up against the lake did make for a beautiful scene. So it's no surprise that this is where we saw the bald eagle****** flying around.
Oh, you can't see the eagle because the zoom is so terrible? No problem, I got you.
The fairway's position between the creek and the lake provided for some excitement as three (yes, 3!) different golfers sent their balls for a swim. One of those golfers was Jordan Spieth, and his ball landed just beyond our field of vision, prompting one of the women beside us to ask her taller friends, repeatedly, "It's wet, but is it wet-wet?". I didn't know if this was actual golf terminology, but it wasn't a good time to ask Mike. He was busy using all of his patience not to get into a fight with the jabbermouths behind us- you know, the total bros to whom at one point he literally had to say "Look, I really want to be friends with you guys, but if you don't stop with the stupid comments, I'm not sure that's going to happen." Fun times. After the action at Hole 7, we made our way back to the...well, to be honest I'm still not real sure on the layout of the course. We tried to go to Hole 16 but once again it was, like, totes super-popular and there was not a good spot for us anywhere. So we went back to Hole 17, this time closer to the green. Emily had to leave around then to go to a wedding, which left Mike to save our spots while Kiki and I did some damage in the Ryder Cup gift shop. I am wearing my new Captain's Pick t-shirt as I type this, and I can humbly report that I look great. The nice thing about attending a nationally-televised event is that there are cameramen on hand to capture all of your precious memories. In this case, when play resumed on Hole 17, the excellent NBC Sports staff caught this great shot of me with my new friend Rory.
They were also able to capture Ryan Moore, J.B. Holmes and I celebrating together after the two of them won the hole.
Ryan and J.B. would go on to win their match, and as you may know the U.S. would go on to win the whole tournament, and I can't help but think that we were probably the good luck charms that made all the difference. In conclusion, here are some key takeaways from my Ryder Cup experience:
Rory McIlroy is much smaller than I thought he would be. Like, I hate to make the obvious and stereotypical leprechaun connection, and yet stereotypes exist for a reason.
Emily is capable of displaying remarkable restraint, as evidenced by her only whispering "Somebody's closer!" maybe four times.
On the whole, I still think fall is only the third-best season. But the weather on days like yesterday is hard to beat.
Patrick Reed. So much enthusiasm. Respect.
Friend(?) is clearly either a funhater or a terrible decision maker, or possibly both.
There are no commercials if you're attending a golf event live, but also nobody telling you who took the last shot or what number shot they're actually on, so it's hard to keep track of what's happening, but if you ever find yourself in such a situation you can just clap when the rest of the crowd claps and you'll be fine.
Thank you Emily, Mike and Kiki for accompanying me. I had such a blast and feel really fortunate to have gotten to go, and to have been able to share such an awesome experience with some of my favorite people. Is it too early to start planning our outfits for next summer's US Open at Erin Hills???
*At my Sports Jeopardy audition, the last question I got during the mock game was something like "This event pits American and European golfers against each other every two years." I had already messed up a question about the Davis Cup (saying it was golf instead of tennis) so I was determined to make up for it on this one. Except that I buzzed in before I had fully thought things through. The answer came out something like "What is...the...Ryyyyyyder Cup???" **And, as an aside, both pictures were from the back so for quite some time I was not 100% certain who I was tweeting with. ***See what I did there? Golf, major...get it?!?! ****I am not kidding. I think we saw three black people all day- Tiger Woods, Darius Rucker aka Hootie of Blowfish fame, and Michael Jordan. And I can't even really count Michael Jordan myself because only Mike saw him. *****You know what zoom doesn't leave much to be desired? My camera. You know what wasn't allowed into the Ryder Cup on Friday, Saturday or Sunday? My camera. You know what had to be run back to the car when we got to security? My camera. ******Also an extremely good omen for an eventual American victory, right?!
Whenever I took a plane flight as a child, I would bide my time looking intently out the window in search of any Care Bears that might be frolicking around in the clouds.
Our flight between Miami and Houston seemed like the kind of flight where I might have found one.
If I got to pick which Care Bear I'd encounter, I probably would have gone with Bedtime Bear, to help me get some sleep during the 30+ hours of travel time between Cusco and Minneapolis.
We had to bid farewell to Saul the tour guide at the Cusco airport. I cannot underestimate how great he was. Not only did he put up with me butchering the Spanish language* on a regular basis, he was friendly, informative and patient at all times. And there were definitely a few weirdos in our tour group that would have tested my patience.
Here is Saul with three of those weirdos-
We flew from Cusco to Lima, and then had a layover for a few hours before our 1:00 am flight from Lima to Miami. We landed in Miami shortly before 8:00 am, which left us roughly 10 hours to kill until our Miami to Houston and Houston to Minneapolis flights.
We decided to spend the time hitting a few more of the South Florida sites. First we stopped at Biscayne National Park, America's largest maritime national park (we watched a 20 minute movie that relayed this fact at least three times). Afterwards we drove to Key Largo for a relaxing, idyllic lunch on the patio at a place called Sundowners. I'd share a picture but at this point none of us were in any state to be photographed.
Enjoy these pristine white flowers from outside the Key Lime Cafe instead.
Thankfully the rest of our day was pretty uneventful, and we landed back in Minneapolis safe and sound around midnight. And with that, another adventure comes to a close. Peru was amazing. Until my next international incident, thank you to the approximately three people who have read any of this, and happy travels. *(Warning, NSFW language coming up.) I had a blast speaking Spanish all week and for the most part I was able to communicate very effectively, but it would be delusional to think I didn't make some mistakes. However, I don't think I said anything quite as hilarious as the flight attendant on our Cusco to Lima flight. As we were landing, she made the standard announcement in Spanish, then repeated it in English. Unfortunately for her, that meant the 40 Americans in our group all heard her say, "Be careful opening the overhead bins, as items may have shitted during flight."
About two weeks before we left for Peru, I got this text from Mom:
Reading that book is scary. Cuzco sounds like a den of thieves & robbers.
I had leant her a book I'd just finished reading called Turn Right at Machu Picchu, by Mark Adams. The author is a magazine editor who, despite his career in the travel/adventure magazine field, hasn't camped out since spending one night in a backyard tent as a child. He gets the idea that he should re-trace the steps of Hiram Bingham, the explorer who announced the discovery* of Machu Picchu 100 years earlier. So Adams hires a guide and sets off to trek the various Inca trails that Bingham had trekked.
The book goes back and forth between descriptions of Bingham's expedition, and Adams's own experiences shlepping about the Andes. I found it amusing, descriptive and highly informative (though I felt in the second half he got away from story-telling and it read a little more like a logbook**).
Between reading some of Adams's experiences in Cusco before he embarked on the trip (including having to be smuggled out of the city because of some sort of strike or government protest or something), and reading the safety advice on our tour operator's web site, Mom was convinced that we'd fall victims to pick-pocketers within minutes of stepping off the plane, and our lives would be in tremendous peril.
Thankfully, she could not have been more wrong.
Cusco and the surrounding areas were lovely. Yes, lovely in a developing country kind of way, so poverty was apparent, dogs roamed around the city***, and many of the buildings were unfinished and/or in a state of disrepair, but lovely nonetheless. And all of the people we met were wonderful. Not one introduced their occupation as thief OR robber.
We started our last day in Peru by driving out of the city to see a kindergarten. Our tour company contributes a portion of their profits to the schools in this rural community, so we'd been notified ahead of time that we'd be visiting the school, and were invited to bring school supplies to donate.
The kids, ranging in age from three to five, were completely adorable. They each said hello, and told us their name and how old they were. We had an opportunity to ask their teacher questions about how the Peruvian school system works, talk about what the kids were learning, and then enjoy a little recess time with the kids on the playground. Head of the class went to a little boy named Nilson, who walked around and shared his snack- kernels of maíz gigante!!!- with us and his classmates.
After the school we visited a locally-owned alpaca textiles factory. (Mike and Kiki are definitely going to find the souvenirs we picked out for them, let's say, unique****.)
We continued on to visit four additional archeological sites. The last was Saqsaywaman, which Saul helpfully told us is pronounced similarly to, but not exactly the same as, "sexy woman". The site overlooks the city of Cusco and features very impressive, intact examples of Incan architecture*****. Saqsaywaman is right next to the Christo Blanco(White Christ) statue, a gift to the city from the Palestinian Christian community in the 1940s and a felicitous but unintentional complement to the Black Jesus idol we'd seen the day before in the cathedral.
We had time for lunch and a little last-minute shopping back in Cusco before departing for the airport. It rained, but you can't complain about the rain when it results in a view like this-
Not a bad way to say goodbye to such an incredible place.
*Scientific discovery. Though Hiram Bingham is largely credited with "discovering" Machu Picchu, there were actually two Peruvian families living at the site when he found it in 1911. And you can't really discover something if someone else knows already knows it's there, now can you.
**This impressive literary critique brought to you by my perfect attendance (2/2 meetings) at book club.
***The dogs seemed somewhat cared for and mostly kept to themselves so although they made me very nervous, I survived. I did at one point see what can only be described as a canine gang, with upwards of 20 dogs congregated on the side of the road, but luckily we were on the tour bus so they couldn't carry out any sort of group attack on me.
****And I use the word "unique" in the most Midwestern, passive-aggressive way possible.
*****I did not expect to learn so much about walls on this trip.
Another busy day in Peru has come to a close. Let's see what we were up to...
We walked back to the Plaza de Armas in the late morning, and once again, the citizens of Cusco (Cusqueñans, which is a super fun demonym) had prepared some entertainment for us. Because this can't possibly be what they do every Sunday, right?
We arrived at the plaza just as a parade was kicking off. There was a military band, and a lot of groups of people walking in formation.
No floats or people throwing candy though, so clearly there's room for improvement.
After the parade we had lunch in a little restaurant on the plaza. It was time for me to achieve my Peruvian food goals!
Goal #1: Drink a Pisco Sour. Check.
Goal #2: Eat obscure South American mammal meat. Check. (Opted for the Alpaca skewers and they were actually pretty good! Tasted a little like pork.)
Goal #3: More maíz gigante. Check, plus bonus points because the giant corn kernels were covered in a cheese sauce!!
Emily had an alpaca burger, but found she preferred her bite off my plate. "It tastes like it's marinated in happiness."
We had a tour in the afternoon of the cathedral and the Koricancha, or Temple of the Sun. The cathedral is notable for it's painting of the last supper, in which the disciples are dining on Guinea pig and Judas is depicted as Francisco Pizarro. It started raining on our way to see the Temple of the Sun, which I think is what they call irony.
Sadly tomorrow is already our last day here. It's been a great trip so far, so hopefully tomorrow is more of the same!
After Machu Picchu we had lunch in Aguas Calientes, and then traveled back to Cusco. We arrived around 6:30, which might as well have been 10:30 for as dark as it was and as exhausted as we all were.
For dinner we went to an adorable little pizza place where I had a delicious pizza with jamón y papas (ham and potatoes). For whatever reason, Peru is swarming with pizzerias. This is good as recognizable food makes Mom happy.
To close out the day, Emily and I went exploring, and walked the three blocks from our hotel to the Plaza de Armas. It was Saturday night, so we reasoned there would likely be something going on, and we were so. completely. right.
There was more, including weird performers in masks and drinks at the highest-elevation Irish pub in the world, but it's time to go now so we'll have to save those stories for another time.
