Serendipity!

Two childhood buddies, all grown up and now reconnected through Facebook. They had a plan. Brad would come up to our house for the weekend. He and Greg would ride their Harleys, visit the Rock Store, swing by Neptune’s Net for shrimp and brews, cruise PCH and then head to a concert by Sammy Hagar’s new band, Chicken Foot. A dream weekend for two mature bikers dudes!

However, life has a way of interjecting itself into our best laid plans. Brad’s a single dad and his son presented him, on Friday morning with a fresh batch of challenges, which unfortunately prevented Brad from visiting us for the weekend.

My poor husband was crestfallen. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning that opened the package with the Red Ryder BB Gun, only to find that the BB's are sold separately. “I am so bummed, he can’t come” “I understand why he can’t make it…but what will I do with the Chicken Foot tickets”, he lamented. Being the loving wife of course I offered to step in and take Brad’s place as the “Biker Dudette”. No dice. “It’s not the same, it’s a guy thing”. He was right, so I rattled off a list of other suitable possibilities. He was not in the mood for a substitute.

“Okay, here’s another idea then, go get the trailer, and we’ll take off for the weekend instead”. He straightened up in his chair and said “really, where will we go?” I told him I had no idea but that we’d figure it out when we pulled out of the driveway. It was 10:00am and I had a full day of office work to accomplish and still had to pack our food, clothes and other necessities into the trailer by 5:00pm, if we wanted to get out of Dodge before sundown.

I worked, I packed, I conquered (gentlemen, don’t try this at home, only us chicks can multi-task like this!), at 5:05 we were ready to roll. At the end of Blossom Court, Greg turned to me and said “where to?” I said “you choose, north, south or east” (we can’t go west because we don’t have a amphibious trailer!). He said “let’s go north” and I thought that was a great choice. South only brings deadlocked traffic and a mass of humanity. North brings the sweet fields of Oxnard’s strawberries, the coolness of Lake Cachuma, and the Mediterranean of the Pacific, Santa Barbara.

We motored up the road with our trusty Good Sam bible in hand. “Hey, what about this place, Ocean Mesa Campground at El Capitan state beach?” I asked. We had heard about this place from other RV’ers. It’s a private campground with all the trimmings, huge pull through sites, sweeping ocean views, pool, Jacuzzi, walking trails and the nouveau chic campground of El Capitan Canyon next door, with its $ 300.00 a night, willow bed and claw foot tub, canvass tent cabins. Guess the folks who stay at El Cap Canyon really need to get away from the stress and strain of taxing Santa Barbara!

We pulled into Ocean Mesa and found a wide variety of sites available. We chose one at a quiet corner of the park that over looked the Ocean and El Cap Canyon. While Greg got us hooked-up and squared away, I quickly set about making a dinner with some Italian flare. We started with a fresh field green salad with burrata cheese and heirloom tomatoes from our teeny front garden and a spicy pasta puttanesca, featuring some peppers that Greg has been growing in our herb garden. A decent Italian Chianti rounded out our meal. Even Lucky felt satisfied after one or two dried chicken treats. By 9:30 we were cuddled up in bed watching the tube with one eye open each. Not bad for a full day of work and a quick escape behind us.

We awoke to a glorious Saturday morning, warm, clear and bright with potential. We had coffee and breakfast in full view of the Pacific with all of its splendors. We decided that a small adventure was in order. Greg was intrigued with another remote campground that he had long been told about, Jalama Beach. Jalama Beach is a secret Mecca for folks who crave the pristine beaches of California’s yester-years. It lies at the end of a windy, fourteen mile, two lane country road, near Lompoc. If you are not looking for it you won’t ever find it!

Just about the time that I believed my bladder was about to breech, the hills parted and Jalama was revealed before us. It looked like we had emerged onto a beach in rural Brazil, Spain or Uruguay. There are no million dollar homes or gated beach accesses here, only miles of unspoiled California coastline. Campers wait for hours or even days to score one of the few prized sites, as no reservations are ever accepted.

We wrangled a day use pass from the attendant and made for the loo. After freshening up, we strolled around the beach and park for awhile. While checking out the waves, we just happened to catch a whiff of burgers being grilled at the Jalama Beach general store. We followed our noses and found a line of people who were in a complete burger trance. We managed to find a burger zombie who had eaten and was able to speak; he explained that Jalama burgers are almost as sublime as the views.

Not wanting to miss out, we ordered what everyone else was devouring, the classic Jalama burger, a lean 1/3lb "steak cut" burger on a toasted sesame seed bun, with fresh shredded lettuce, sweet red onion, vine ripened tomatoes, dill pickles and finished off with their “world famous Jalama Secret Sauce”. We supplemented this with their sizzling fresh cut fries and two cold beers. It was a tremendous combination. The burger was the size of my head, no lie, but we both managed to pack them away (I can’t remember, did I pay my gym membership this month?).

We climbed back into the truck and drove around the campground, making note of the sites we vowed to fight for, upon our promised return. I quickly slid into a burger induced coma and left my poor husband to negotiate alone, the curvy road back to highway 101.

We made it back to Ocean Mesa in plenty of time to enjoy the loveliness of the afternoon sun over the Pacific. Greg went up to the office to pay for another nights stay and returned to our site with a flyer promoting the last concert of a summer concert series at El Cap Canyon that evening. The notice explained that they would be offering a Tri-tip or chicken BBQ meal with all of the fixings (for a fair price) and the music was free. Simply bring your blankets or chairs and your favorite beverages. How could we go wrong with this!

As the sun set, we packed up or chairs, a little folding table and a bottle of chilled Due Ove wine,
the name (pronounced Do-Ay OO-vay) means “two grapes,” which aptly describes this beguiling blend of Pinot Grigio and Sauvignon Blanc grapes.

We managed to find a prime location near the food and music, despite the fact that a mass of folks had arrive from nearby SB and looked as though they had been in there spots since early morning. The scene was very satisfying. Picnic tables set with baskets, wine and candles, Kids jetting around everywhere, people laughing and eating, all ready for a great evening of music under the stars.

The talent was a group called Soulamente Rhythm & Blues. They played some great popular cover tunes. We ate, sipped our wine and even managed to boogie to a few of our favorite tunes. We stayed until they broke into their last set. Greg drove all of our chairs and stuff back up to the campground. I hiked back up the hill and enjoyed the starry night and the last sounds of the concert below. To early still for bed, Greg lit a campfire and we whiled away the evening discussing the day over a little cup of local Lemoncello.

On Sunday morning we woke up, in what looked like Boston or Maine! The fog was so thick that we couldn’t see the rig parked in the next site. Too cold to enjoy the outdoors we hunkered down with some hot coffee and watch some of the morning shows on the tube. As we saw a few glimpses of the sun, we decided to enjoy one last treat before packing up and heading home, brunch!

Greg had bought two pieces of beautiful Black Cod that we need to polish off and I had packed some nice caviar and a bottle of Prosecco. A winner brunch combination to be sure. I put together a nice tray with the caviar, grilled baguette rounds, chopped boiled egg, onions, and sour cream, while Greg marinated the fish for the grill. We enjoyed watching the sun burn holes though the clouds while eating our salty first course. We ate the gorgeous fish with some sautéed baby bok choi. Another wonderful bounty from the sea consumed.

After our plates were cleaned, we packed up camp and hit the road for home. We pulled back into our driveway around two o’clock. Greg phone rang before he could turn the engine off. It was his friend Brad. He wanted to know if he still had the tickets for the Chicken foot concert that evening, or if he had managed to find some other taker. With a broad grin, Greg told him that he still had them. Brad explained that the crisis on the home front was under temporary control, and that he could make it to the concert if the offer still stood. With the date back on , the two friends arranged to meet in the parking lot of Universal City.

It’s great to be at a place in life where we can be serendipitous. We feel a bit like a boat with a really light anchor. When the winds change, we can quickly, hoist it up, set a new course, and we then drift along in that new direction. Who knows what the wind will bring this week!

It's all about the plumbing!

Reader Advisory! If you are in anyway offended by the mention of toilets, intestines, doo-doo, up-chucking or the killing of wild beasts, this week’s blog should not be read by you.

America is an Über sanitary society. Our restaurants are rated for cleanliness, wipes are available at the grocery store to clean your cart handle, public toilets offer seat liners and health conscious moms wouldn’t be caught dead without a bottle of Purell leashed to their purses. Not that I think this is a bad thing, oh no, it just isn’t the way that the rest of the world operates. The more you travel across the world, the more you crash into this reality.

Truthfully, embracing these cultural differences has, at times, been challenging for me. I can smell a funky odor a mile away, odd textures and “parts” in food make my stomach take evasive actions, and I am a mom with a Purell bottle leashed to my purse.

Greg, on the other hand, could be the spawn of Bizarre Foods, Andrew Zimmern. He is hard core. Greg will eat anything with gusto, sleep soundly anywhere and venture where sensible mortals would never dare to tread. As long as he can score a cup of Joe and at some point, splash some water over his head, he’s good to go. Curiously enough, he rarely suffers any serious consequences from his “Fear Factor” approach to travel. My hero!

To keep up with Greg, I have adopted a scouting approach to travel “Always Be Prepared”. Whether we are parked on a beach in Mexico, heading out on a mission trip to Central America or jetting over to the far-east, I am armed at least with my basic creature comforts. This way I can take care of my plumbing issues (internal and external), stave of starvation and be assured of a creepy-crawly-free slumber.

A Doctor friend of mine told me never to travel without a good Prophylactic (not the type for issues “South of the Equator!”). He would say, “One Pepto-Bismol tablet a day, keeps the potty away”. So, I start eating my daily doses of Pepto a few days before we depart and make sure I have plenty on hand for the trip. Our Missions pastor’s wife swears by the “Missionary remedy” – a can of Coke a day, to kill any nefarious stomach bugs. However, I always opt of the lower calorie pink-pills! And just in case the main menu offering is creamed monkey brains, I carry a stash of Emergency food with me; roasted almonds, instant oatmeal, tea bags and power bars. You can live on this stuff for days!

Before I developed my handy kit, I was in Beijing with a girlfriend on a business trip. We decided to have dinner at Quanjude Roast Duck Restaurant, the oldest and the most revered restaurant in Beijing that serves Peking Duck. Armed only with an address of the restaurant and some Mandarin phases on some index cards, we grabbed a cab and headed out. The cabbie, who spoke no English and only grinned oddly while shaking his head enthusiastically, when I asked “are you sure this is Quanjude Restaurant?” We walked into what looked like a fast-food joint. “I can’t image that this is where former President Bill Clinton ate” I said to my colleague.

We ordered our duck, which arrived on paper plates and was served with small rice pancakes, green onions and a smear of a dark tangy bean sauce and the Pièce de résistance, Duck consommé. The duck soup was about 80% grease and 20% mystery liquid. Drinking it was similar to having your oil changed at jiffy lube. Suffice it, to say that the taxi ride back to the hotel only served to blend the consommé and all the duck goodies into a toxic intestinal brew. Once we returned to the hotel, my friend went out for a nice massage and I made a beeline for the room. Thank God that our bathroom was spiffy-clean because I spent the next few hours practicing my up-chuck-duck skills in honor of the deceased chairman Mao.

The next day we found out that we had indeed arrived at the back of the restaurant, which was a far cry from the plushness of the dining room! Lesson learned, never trust a cab driver with fewer teeth than a duck.

China is known for its exotic menu items. Many menus read like the who’s, who of the endangered species list! Sunbear, howler monkey, spotted deer and those are just appetizers.

Greg and I were out to dinner with some dear friends in Guangzhou. They had taken us to one of the best restaurants along the Pearl River. All of the ingredients that they serve are fresh, I mean REALLY Fresh! We viewed tank after tank of swimming fish, eels, crustaceans, things in shells, things out of shells, insects, snakes and other squirmy creatures that I have yet to identify. I am sure that Jacques Cousteau is spinning in his watery-grave at the notion of it all.

This is not just for show. The Chinese truly believe, If they can’t see it moving, it’s not fresh. Only a fool would buy food wrap in a cello-pack. They are positive that you have had that stuff stored in the bottom of your deep-freeze from the time before the Cultural Revolution!

We selected our lovely fresh victims and were headed back to our table when Greg and our friend Alex spotted a counter pack with ice, some meat filets and an alligator head, that was actually still twitching. The gents, being macho, insisted we should try some gater steaks too. However, the ones on the ice were already spoken for. Being the first rate establishment that this was, another six foot reptile was quickly produced, bound with bamboo ties and had its noggin placed on the chopping block right before our very eyes. Before you could say “Genghis Khan”, the clever wielding butcher, beheaded the creature in one swing. All we girls could think to do was to shriek in horror at the gruesome sight. This was rather unnerving to many of the diners. This was the epitome of freshness. I can personally testify that braised alligator tastes like eating someone's wallet.

After a good meal, nothing beats climbing into a cozy bed for a good night’s sleep. Well, I have found that is easier said than done in some destinations. For instance, all beds in Asia have one thing in common; they have the firmness of floor boards. Remember they actually like to sleep on the floor, “so let’s just elevate them for our western visitors”. You can stay in a five-star hotel, and you will still get to sleep on what feels like a sheet of plywood that is two feet shorter than your double bed at home (sorry Yao Ming!). To combat this I just ask for six or so extra blankets from house-keeping. You should see the look on the face of the sweet little gals who deliver these to our room, when the temperature is 95° outside.

If it’s not a firmness issue, it can be a chewing issue (as in bed bugs or other buggy things). Even the swankiest hotels on Manhattan’s fifth avenue are not immune to the epidemic of bed bugs. Before our first trip to Guatemala, I made my single greatest, travel comfort purchase; the Sleep Sac. It’s a light weight silk sack, about the size of a large sleeping bag that folds to the size of a pair of rolled-up socks. Greg mocked my silly purchase, until I was the only one from a team of eleven, who managed not to be the nightly main course for the mid-night buffet.

I only wished I had found the Sleep Sac before a mission trip to Cuba. The culprits weren’t bed bugs but Volkswagen-sized roaches and clouds of mosquitoes. The windows to our room had no screens but rather randomly placed wooden slats. Not exactly a bug proof Fort Knox. However, I did come up with a rather ingenious plan to reduce the buzzing in my ears and the sucking on my flesh. I moved my bed right under a wall air conditioner, turned the contraption to its lowest setting. Then I put on a hooded sweat shirt and pulled the strings so tight that only my nose and eyes were exposed. I put socks on my hands and tucked my PJ bottoms into the socks on my feet. I looked like a small, deranged version of the uni-bomber. Mind you, it was about 99° out with about 90% humidity, so if the AC had broken down during the night, all anyone would have found in the morning, was a pile of sweaty clothes and a dehydrated body.

The number one travel question that I always get is “how bad are the toilets in those strange locales?” Well, I can honestly say as long as they work, to some degree, I have learned to be grateful for them regardless of the type or condition. No matter how much or how little of those tasty delicacies that you eat, they have to come out sometimes. You can’t just hold it for weeks on end. Therefore, I have two toilet credos; #1, TP and wet wipes, never leave home without them and #2, remember to practice your squats!

Years ago, I was with a group of tourists visiting the old canton zoo. We were subjected to a four hour bus ride on pot-hole ridden roads. When we finally arrived at the zoo, no one rushed to see the giant pandas but instead rushed for the “Happy House” (a cute Chinese term for the restroom). Half of the group spun around on their heels when they saw the facilities. It consisted of a concrete trench in the floor with a rusty old pipe protruding from the far wall, which spewed water to keep “things” moving. Several low walls spanned the trench for privacy and a way to hang on while “doin” your thing. The friend that I was with coined it the “doo-doo current” as you could see what the gal in front of you had for breakfast. This was by far the most intense potty experience that I have been exposed to.

Another strange toilet was in the highlands of Guatemala. It was a wooden lean-to that had newspapers draped loosely around it for privacy as well as handy reading materials. The structure was set over a big clay pipe that stuck upward from the raw earth. It was actually pretty good, until a stiff breeze whipped up. The whole thing just sort of swayed back and forth and the sheets of paper blew in all directions, so much for privacy or reading materials.

Yes, the stuff that we determine as necessary, fancy and comfortable take on the attributes of functional, practical and routine in other parts of the world. Do these type of crazy things like what I mentioned here keep me from wanting to see what other surprise are out there, NO WAY! Just let me pack my Girl Scout Supply kit and I’ll meet you at the airport for the next flight out!

I was bitten and haven't ever recovered...

He was just like Pesaro, Balboa or Christopher Columbus to me. My uncle Gerald was a world traveler. He and my aunt Gladys went to exotic places like Venice, Amsterdam, Egypt and Hawaii. His visits were always highlighted with stories about gondolas and windmills and camel rides. I remember savoring every detail of their amazing adventures.

As a kid, I never went anywhere, except to Florida twice, to visit my crazy Aunt Vivian (she taxidermy her dog after he croaked). My mom wouldn’t drive the freeways and she hated to fly and my dad was never around. So, I traveled vicariously through my Aunt and Uncle’s tales and post cards.

On one of my uncle’s visits, he brought me one of the greatest gifts I have ever received. It was a little leather pouch from Italy with coins in it from around the globe. “You’ll need these” he said “it’s pocket change for when you begin your travels”. That was it. I was bitten by the travel bug and I haven’t ever recovered.

When Greg and I were first married, our early travel endeavors involved a pup tent, a Volkswagen and Mac-n- cheese made over a camp stove. I loved everything about those trips, except the lumpy rocks that would creep under the tent floor and my sleeping bag.

As our family grew, so did the transport vehicles. From the tent we went to a camper, to a 26 foot travel trailer to, a 32’ fifth wheel, which I loving referred to as “the apartment building”, to our present grand 30’ foot 5th, with two slide-outs. It’s like a rolling Taj Mahal!

Not only did our family hit the road, but we hit the air too. We did the family Hawaii-luau thing, saw the Nation’s Capital, followed the freedom trail from Philly to James Town, we were Amish for a weekend (not a good look for me), and all got dizzy on top of Seattle’s Space Needle. These family trips were so much fun, that one trip actually resulted baby number three.

However, my personal travel epiphany happened in 1989, on a trip with a girlfriend to Hong Kong. I couldn’t believe that I was standing on the other side of the planet. From my vantage point on top of Victoria peak, I gazed out over the South China Sea and watched the Junks glide across a tranquil sea of glass. It was a magical, transforming moment. Standing there I couldn’t help but think of my bag of coins back home. It was if my Uncle had willed me to that place.

Since that amazing trip to China over twenty years ago, I have been to 263 cities in 15 countries. Some of my favorite adventures have included, hiking the highlands of Guatemala, floating in a hot air balloon over the Tuscan country side, sailing through the Dalmatian isles of Croatia, navigating a bamboo boat down the Li river in central China, gawking at the anti-US propaganda in Havana, listening to steel drum music in Jamaica, watching fireworks over Big Ben, having iguanas chase me down the beach in Huatulco, Mexico. Amazingly, I have been back to China four times since that first trip.

After returning home from that initial trip to Hong Kong, I bought a plaque that says:
“I am not the same having seen the moon rise on the other side of the world.”Boy is that ever true, because I have become obsessed with travel and fortunately for me, I have infected my beloved husband with this bug.

For Christmas last year, one of the girls bought me the book “1000 place to see before you die”. It was great flipping through the pages and checking off the places that we have been to so far. It also made me feel like a bit of a travel-slacker, considering that I have more than 700 places still to see before I die. Worse than that, I have a bunch of places on my list that aren’t even mentioned in this book. All I can say is “I NEED MORE FREQUENT FLYER MILES!”

See, it’s really hard for me to understand folks who don’t feel the same way about traveling as I do. You know, people who, for whatever reason, are content to stay anchored to home and hearth for the entirety of their lives. Travel just has no lure for them. But I have a plan. The next time I run into someone like that I will just have to produce my secret treasure and enrapture them with my magic bag of coins.

The Exit Plan

On her eighteenth birthday, our youngest daughter Katy proclaimed "all your kids are adults now Mom". That statement made it official; we are on the cusp of being "empty nesters".

It’s true. Megan, the oldest, has been out building a life of her own for over eight years now. Sarah has just graduated from collage this past June and dreams daily of moving into her own swanky apartment. And the youngest Katy is off to the Vidal Sassoon School to learn how to make other people look “fabulous”.
Lucky for us, Greg and I have seen all this coming for some time now. Little by little and with God's divine intervention, we have been altering our lives to get ready for the next phase – L.A.L.K (aka. Life after little kids!). It’s exciting. We look at each other and we can’t believe how fortunate we are and how well things are lining up for the future.
Here is where we are at. Four years ago, Greg parted ways with a company he had worked at for twenty years and went into business for himself. He can work from anywhere now. I am a salesperson for an industry where I can work from anywhere (I love technology!). We are both passionate about travel, meeting new people, experiencing new cultures, altruism and after twenty-five years, each other.
Our plan is to begin adventuring. Just us two. Well, make that three, our dog Lucky, has become the replacement child (right Sarah), so he is part of the plan. We have bought a newer, bigger, fifth wheel trailer and diesel truck for adventures closer to home.
We’ve had a few delightful test runs and we are ready to start striking out in earnest. Our only requirement is; that where ever we travel, we get good cell phone service to access the net and that the kids who are still living at home water the plants, feed the cat and don’t host any raves while we are away (remember – you are all adults now).

This blog is our effort to chronicle our dreaming, planning, escapades and the journey itself. You're invited to join in the fun!