Red Moon

My sister frowned at the sky and then turned to me, "Ummm, doesn't a red moon mean something bad?"

"I thought that was something to do with sailing and a red moon in the morning. Dunno if it means anything at night. 'Sides, there's not a cloud in the sky. It's a beautiful night."

A few hours later we were in the tent, nearly alone and definitely out of sight of any other campers out on the Montana prairie and the wind started blowing. Hard. Then there was some lightning in the distance, thunder and a bit of rain. The wind picked up, the lightning increased. I laid (lied? I hate English.) awake, suddenly concerned about tornadoes. I mean, this is the prairie. As soon as I mentioned it to the Youngest Sis we immediately set about trying to find a cell signal so as to get the weather report from those internet connected individuals at home (our parents). Dad responded with a "get in the car!" We were there. Ten minutes later Mom gives us the weather report for some area 200 miles away. Yes, it's in Montana, but no, the weather isn't nearly the same everywhere in that giant state!

The wind started to really get alarming and I remembered I'd left the poor needy dog in the tent. While YS (Youngest Sis) stood on the passenger seat with her cell phone above the roof to try and pick up a signal, I opened the tent for Harper who came shooting out in a tired and confused panic. He joined us in the car, completely bewildered after five days of traveling away from his normal family, house and car. What insane creatures he must have thought us. Word came back from Mom that there were indeed no tornado watches or warnings in our area, just scattered thunderstorms. We waited for confirmation before heading back to the tent.

After gathering up some things we didn't want to get soaked and throwing them in the car, I climbed back into bed. Harper stumbled around and tried to crawl in my sleeping bag before collapsing in a huff on his own pad. YS, still not entirely convinced that there wasn't going to be a tornado later on, attempted to tie her cell phone to the inner roof of the tent, in the hopes that if something did come along and Mom heard about it and texted we might get a signal.

"Just tie a slipknot," I suggested after she had spent five minutes fiddling with the thing. The it fell and clonked Harper on the head. He just sighed.

"What the fuck is a slipknot?" she hissed at me. "I don't have time for all your fancy knots it's the middle of the night!"

So that's how we spent the rest of the night. The wind howled and battered the tent, with YS's cellphone swinging wildly from the roof and Harper sitting up every half hour having been awoken by the tent flapping. Just know that a red moon in the evening may not mean tornadoes, and in fact may not mean anything at all, but it doesn't rule out crappy weather either.

Planning the Cross-Country Trip

Even though I'm quite comfortable with computers and other gadgets and even though I recognize their incredible usefulness, when it comes to planning trips, hikes or even day itineraries, I'm much happier with a map, paper and pen. In a couple weeks I'm headed out on a cross-country road trip; my dog and sister will accompany me on the way out and it'll be just me and dog on the way back. My dad's side of the family is gathering for my cousin's wedding. I'm totally not a wedding girl, not least of all because I have to shop for and wear a dress, but I'm actually really excited about the trip.

First off, there's the prospect of actually driving across the country again. I've done it one way twice - if that doesn't make sense at first, I bought a car in Oregon and drove it to the army post I was stationed at in New York and then a year later I returned to Oregon (for good!) - and when I was a kid I went on two roundtrips and two one-way moves. I'm a roadtrippin' girl. I actually LIKE to stare out the window for hours on end with nothing and everything to think about. I love watching the scenery slowly change - from the geology to the plants to the wildlife to the farming to the architecture.

It's three and a half to four days of pretty solid driving, but since we're not in a hurry, we're going to see some national parks and camp along the way. There are lots of places that my sister, being eight years younger, hasn't seen and a few that I've never been to, so we're taking the opportunity to hit some new places.

So far the rough plan is to head towards I-90, make a stop at Glacier National Park, then over to Theodore Roosevelt NP - a place I've never been - then down to the Badlands for a hike. After that we'll be on 90 again for a ways, and at some point we're going to turn north and through the great lakes. Specifically, we're passing through a narrow (perhaps only a bridge, I'm not sure) point between Lake Michigan and Lake Huron. Even just on the atlas this part looks gorgeous.

Then there's the Pittsburgh part of the trip. Pittsburgh, like most eastern cities, is staggeringly different from most west coast cities. There are two-hundred-year-old houses, surrounded by even old trees, that would take up two city blocks if they were in the west; some of them even have servants quarters detached on the property, now used as huge single family homes. The road system is not on a grid and kind of exasperating for an out of towner. The city is divided into neighborhoods that are often based on ethnicity - there's the Jewish neighborhood, the Irish neighborhood, etc. Sure, we have Chinatowns in the west, but that's really all, and even those are just not the same thing. There are also a lot of great parks in the city (not that Portland doesn't have a ton) as well as museums, universities and ridiculously good-looking sports facilities. As far as Pacific northwest sports fans go.... well, the Timbers Army is the exception that proves the rule. Never will you find such don't-care-unless-we're-winning gloryhunters than in the northwest. Pittsburgh is where you will find what it means to live and breathe your team and city. I may even go to a baseball game while I'm there and I HATE baseball.

I've even found a pub to watch the USA World Cup Qualifier against Mexico! Of course that would be one of the first things I planned.

No easing back into America

No one stamped my passport when I landed in Atlanta. Looking at it, there's no proof that I ever left the UK and I can't help but picture the really mean woman from the Manchester airport's border patrol team thinking something similar when I go back again. The reason they forgot to stamp my passport is because they were caught up in sending me over to the "random" search center so all of my (one) bags could be picked through by a man wearing latex gloves. Initially skeptical that I'd spent nearly two months abroad with only one bag, they let me go and I scurried over to my next flight.

Everyone's accents sound strange and grating, Dick Cheney is all over the television for reasons I still don't fully understand and then there were the people on the train... That's right, I took a train in America! The ticket was cheap, the scheduled time was short and I needed to get down to my parents' where my car was parked anyway, so I thought I'd give the Amtrak a shot. The first major difference from European trains is that I was given what seemed like ten feet of legroom. I can't imagine how tall someone would have to be to take advantage of all that space. Later in the journey, a 12-year-old girl sat next to me - blocking my path to the aisle right before my stop - and pulled a lever on the chair that sent out a footrest like in a reclining armchair. I was amazed.

The second major difference is that the rail lines are for the most part single track. That means that if there are two trains going in opposite directions, someone's got to wait for the other to pass. That someone will inevitably be you. In Germany, one train was going to be a whole four minutes late and it was such a big deal that they made a announcement in four languages explaining so. Here, we were forty-five minutes late and not once were advised when we'd be arriving anywhere.

But I could live with all that. I was just settling a pleasant routine of reading a few paragraphs and then watching the scenery for a few minutes when the conversation of the old people behind me jarred me out of it. Earlier they'd been talking about where they'd grown up and easy chatty things like that, so for the life of me I don't know how the conversation so suddenly became this:

"...but then you got those greenies who won't let you hurt a stalk of alfalfa."

"Oh yeah, but killing babies is fine."

"I know! And.."

Hold on. KILLING BABIES!?!???!? America, sweetie, I can't handle so much all at once. Take it easy on me! I frantically reached for my ipod, only to realize to my absolute horror that it was still in my bag above me. I, literally, jumped up, grabbed my bag and threw it on my seat, jerking my ipod out of the zippered flap. The big to do though caused only a momentary pause in their condemnation of everything that isn't right wing Christian.

"And they're taking God out of everything!"

"The schools!"

"This country was founded by..."

STUPID HOLD BUTTON! Then I was frozen as to what I actually wanted to listen to. Sara! ANYTHING IS BETTER THAN THIS! So I pressed "OK" until music started playing (it turned out to be Alabama 3, who are not in fact from Alabama, and from the sound of it are more than three. Far better than loooooney-tics), but not before I got to hear the woman explain some scheme her niece does to get her private, religious charter school funded entirely by the government. I'm glad we're paying to foster extremism in children. Just tickles me.

My sister was waiting for me in the parking lot of the station. She'd found the place, but no one was there except for a lurching man who bore a striking resemblance to a zombie. When I texted her that I'd be late, she thought she'd explore the nearby park. What she found was some unused kids' play equipment and some grass, all virtually unused except for a group of people who also bore a resemblance to zombies. So she retreated back to the car to wait another forty minutes. I think an invasion has started.

Over the river and through the woods (updated)

Friday morning I was on a cable car at 4500ft in the Swiss Alps and by Saturday morning I was on a sailboat off the coast of Scotland. Who can say with a straight face that that isn't completely awesome? No one.

.....and wow, I just hit a wall of tired. To Be Continued, I suppose. Tomorrow I'm up bright and early to rid my bag of liquids and try to smush it into carry-on size, eat breakfast and walk across the car parks (British term) and roundabouts (another British concept!) to the airport terminal to embark on 17 hours (starting with takeoff from Manchester) of air travel joy. Yippee!



*** CONTINUED!

So yes, Friday morning I left the mountain hostel at 8:45 in the morning and climbed into a cable car bound for the Lautenbrunnen valley. The whole area had become inundated with fog and Americans overnight and I was glad that I'd been there while it'd been relatively dry and people free. Some of those Americans were on the cable car and couldn't stop telling me about how they want to move to Portland and do "something creative". I was very proud of myself in not rolling my eyes at them, and explained in a reasonable tone that Portland is kind of full of those types and they're now moving away because there aren't any jobs, creative or otherwise. ("Oregon is full. Please try our nearby locations in Idaho." That's the sign I think we ought to have on the border.)

Once at the cable car station down the mountain, I caught a bus to Lautenbrunnen itself and then a train to Interlaken. Interlaken reminds me a lot of the area near Flathead lake in Montana with gorgeous gorgeous (I can't emphasize this enough) turquoise lakes up against the spectacular mountains. From Interlaken it was a four hour train ride to Mannheim, Germany.

Because I didn't have reservations on any of these trains, if the seats were full, I had to make do without one. This wasn't an issue until I switched trains at Mannheim. The train stopped at the Frankfurt airport and was therefore full of travelers both getting off and getting there. I ended up crammed into the between-cars area along with some Germany soldiers on their way (presumably) to drill. Not one of them looked to be over 15 years old, but they were quiet, polite and friendly in a way that 15-year-olds are not physically capable of being, indicating that they actually were old enough to be in the military.

There was one more train change after that in Cologne, and then came the worst train of them all - a local route to the nowhere ville of Weeze. The train was completely packed with commuters. A group of construction workers with prematurely wrinkled skin and tattoos on their necks and each with a few teeth missing hollered at each other and opened bottles of beer using the seats. The rest of the car ran the gambit from teenagers to well-to-do types on their way home to their posh suburbs. At one point I was standing on one foot, my head stuck right below the armpit of a giant man who was talking with his friend, also smushed against me, about football. I know this because it was "blah blah blah Cottbus. blah blah blah UEFA." etc.

When I finally got to Weeze I had to miss the bus connection to the airport because the only Euros I had at that point was a fifty and I know bus drivers of all nationalities well enough to know that that would not fly. So I wandered throughout this entire suburb in search of an ATM and never found one. Instead, I bought a bunch of chocolate and some shampoo at the "Euro store" (like our dollar stores) and had them break the 50.

A few hours after that and I was in Edinburgh, once again standing in line for a bus. The first one filled up and left, the second one stopped taking anything that wasn't exact change and also left while I went to get said change, and I ended up not getting to the hostel until after midnight. As it turns out, I was only a few minutes behind a huge group of Spaniards who were at the checkout desk with an elaborate request - 6 people wanted to stay 3 nights, 4 people 2 nights and they all wanted to be in the same rooms. Being Spaniards, they are completely unfamiliar with the concepts of a line and personal space and I kept having visions like Jason Statham's character in Mean Machine where he goes on kung-fu rampages and breaks everyone's arms. Finally, I got my room assignment and after climbing four flights of stairs was pleased to discover that there was no one else in my room. The charm quickly wore off though when it became apparent that the English girls next door were going to be obnoxious. It was someone's birthday and instead of celebrating in the pub down the hall which was open until 5, they took turns slamming the door, screaming at each other in the hall, then pounding on the door demanding to be let back in. This continued until it was light out (which at that latitude happens at about 4:30) when it went mysteriously silent. I can only hope they went outside for a smoke and got arrested. Karma has to come through sometimes, right?

Edinburgh looks a bit different that the last time I left there early in the morning. The length of Princess street (the road that runs opposite the gigantic castle and is full of shops and bagpipers, ordinarily) is closed and in pieces due to the construction of a tram line. I'm not sure the road, or the city for that matter, is big enough to warrant a tram, but whatever. Hopefully they'll ban cars from there and it'll be slightly less stressful dodging kilted drunkards in the future.

A short train ride through the fog later I was standing on the edge of George Square in Glasgow. I could hear what sounded like a parade in the distance, but as it didn't seem to be getting any closer I couldn't tell what it was. Apparently, it was a parade, but they were marching in place for ten minutes just to hold up my friends who were on the way to pick me up. Not so long after that, and a trip on a row boat, I was on an honest-to-god sailboat!

I'd never been sailing before, so I was pretty pumped. It's a lot less scary than a highspeed ski boat, since it seems to move in slow motion in comparison. But scenery is way better than what you see when you're clinging onto the seat trying not to fly out onto the water skier behind you. In fact, although there's a little more work involved with making it go in the direction you want it to go (not that I had anything to do with that. I just sat there and tried not to get in the way), it's actually pretty relaxing. The weather, being Scotland, was rainy and then sunny and then windy and then still and then sunnyrainywindy all at once. I didn't take any pictures because I was wearing four layers and my camera was somewhere in layer two. For my sake that was a good thing, since I didn't get cold until the very end, but holy crap was I chilly once it did hit.

So there ya have it. The European tale of how one gets from the Alps to sea level in 24 hours. I suppose I could do that at home. But I haven't and can't imagine how I would do it using nearly entirely public transportation.

Squatter Go Home*

I think I’m permanently tired. Despite having gotten a good night’s sleep finally on Saturday, I was still a little groggy Sunday morning. But there was some sunshine and we walked through a park with trees and people attempting to play soccer and rugby. It was all very nice, but something was bugging me. Later on in the afternoon there was a sudden downpour and along with it came a wave of melancholy.

What the hell am I going to do when I get home? I was definitely ready to leave Europe and I have no regrets about changing my schedule to do so. It’s the actual being back that I’m not as ready for. I have no job and Craigslist employment listings are nearly entirely spam thanks to the economy; school doesn’t start until June 20-something; the house bands have broken up and the only live music going on in the basement is a band composed mainly of outsiders and their girlfriends who come over to practice a couple times a week, drink all our beer and don’t talk to anyone else; the roommates upstairs work all the time and therefore can’t go out; the roommate downstairs is unemployed and therefore can’t go out; my car is 80 miles south at my parent’s house and I can’t drive it anyway due to my license expiring while I was away; and my soccer team is overflowing with girls and I think I’ve lost my place. All these things are circling around one fixed image in my head: my bed as I left it two months ago, stripped to the mattress cover, strewn with papers and gadgets that I didn’t want to bring, clean clothes that didn’t get put away, and most importantly, a lump of dirty sheets that didn’t make it into the washer back in March. So instead of plopping into bed after 20 hours of traveling, I get to either do laundry or walk to the store and buy a new set of linens.

The first few days back are always like traveling anyway. There’s a new currency to deal with and I have to remember to either break my twenty (cuz ATMs don’t spit out anything smaller) inside the airport or be prepared to catch $16 from the MAX ticket machine in dollar-coins that hardly anyone even knows exist and therefore are difficult to spend. Then there’s walking from the station back to the house with all my stuff (and possibly sixteen dollars in coins), figuring out the bus schedule on Wednesday in order to go to the DMV and renew my license and making sure I have the right change to even get on the bus, possibly taking the dreaded Greyhound down to the parents’ or having to clean the house in order for them to come up to Portland.

What a complainer! I may post some more later, but I've got to get something to eat before I pass out.




*Anti-Flag song that came up on itunes this morning and has been stuck in my head ever since.

Argh, my legs!

For having finished hiking by noon, I am absurdly sore. Granted, the trail was straight up, straight down and covered with snow in areas, but still.

The scenery here in the Alps is a lot like what you'd see in the Rockies and in parts of the Cascades. The difference is that after seeing a waterfall, hiking though the woods and scurrying up rock slopes, you can stop for lunch at a restaurant and have a hot meal with a cold beer. Civilization is always right around the corner, which is weird for a girl from the Pacific Northwest. Getting out to places like this at home require driving for hours and probably hiking for awhile too. Hope you brought your own beer and hotdogs too, because there isn't a store for miles.

Speaking of which, I just bought a huge tub of yogurt and I may have to rescue it from the hosteler horde that just showed up.

Ahhhh.