I travel to remind myself that this world is big.
On this trip, and especially now in New York, I have learned more about myself than on any other trip. I think a lot of that has to do with what other people's opinions of my trip are.
It started when people I was meeting started being surprised at me traveling alone not simply because I'm a woman but because of how young I am. Not one person expected me to say that I'm 23. The usual reaction was something along the lines of, "Wow, I thought you were older than that." I got that a lot, actually. Even when I didn't ask for it.
Finally someone asked me why I seem so much older than I am. Even though I had always heard people commenting on my maturity (they must not know me well), I had never thought of why so many people thought that way. At first, my response was that I didn't know why but that I knew working my way through college while pulling off good grades and having two majors had something to do with it. It's probably the one answer I give where I don't mind pretending I'm one of my overly-pretentious ex-boyfriends because it's the truth.
After talking with this person for a few more minutes I realized that my travels probably weighed more heavily on why I am the way I am. When I was 16 my parents put me on a plane destined for Spain where I was to meet and live with a family I had never seen. They ended up being life-long friends and I've been back three times since then...one to live for an extended period, go to university, and sleep in a house just as crazy and carnival-like as my own in the US. When I was 19 I bought a plane to Italy on a whim because I thought it'd be thrilling to see Easter mass at the Vatican with however many other millions of people. I convinced my best friend to fly from Spain to Austria one year and then take the train to Turkey...we even got stranded in Serbia. I've been to so many countries that sometimes I forget one when I'm naming them. I guess this is my life. I don't know the difference.
I'm aware that all of this sounds incredibly snooty and that I come from a very privileged background. I'll even admit that I probably took a lot of this for granted for a long time. While I knew that most people don't live the life I do, I also knew nothing else. I have lived one hundred lifetimes. The majority of the years when you're "learning who you are" have been spent obtaining more entry stamps in my passport that I can't decipher.
So, I think my travels have turned my brain into someone older. I was left standing in a piazza at 10pm in Rome with "Well, you can catch whatever bus you need from here. Bye." I spent the night bundled up in the train station in Belgrade, Serbia, where it is appropriate for every drunk teenager to be as loud as he or she possibly can. I had directions to the home I was staying at written on my forearm in France because my friends were expecting to lose me in their revelry. I took a wrong turn in Istanbul and was led by the arm into a rug store and told to sit down and drink some apple tea from the tiny, ornate tea set. I was pushed into the street in Cuernavaca because I wouldn't go home with a guy I had been dancing with. The person I loved told me he was sick of traveling and left me because I have a self-diagnosed case of terminal wanderlust.
These things don't keep you an innocent person. You grow up pretty quickly when you realize the world is big.
Every time I meet someone new, especially here in New York, I am reminded of how lucky I am to have seen so much of the world. The other day, I was sitting with a group of people in a bar called Cake Shop with a hidden underground concert that I just couldn't fathom was beneath us (and probably annoyed the doorman with my incessant questions) and someone asked how long I had lived in New York. I've been trying to give the short story of "I just moved here from California because I wanted to try something new" but when people start asking questions I can feel myself cringing inside. I don't really want to sound snooty. Privileged. Pretentious. He asked for the longer version of why I was here and then asked where else in the world I have been. When I told him it was his turn to tell me his life in two minutes, he replied, "I don't have anything to say after that. I feel like I've done nothing with my life. You've done everything and I've done nothing."
What would you say to that? How are you supposed to respond? You saved all of your extra money from every meager job you've had just to travel and, boy, you have certainly traveled. That's the life you chose. Maybe it is making you older before your time, beating you up when your back is turned, or getting you "slushied" like on episodes of "Glee" when the teenagers are happily walking down the hallways. Maybe you turn out just like me, leaving the subway station on Sunday evening, making the trudging but careful walk down a few blocks in Brooklyn, passing the creeping men still patrolling the streets like it is their job, and looking like life had just happened to you.
I know I am incredibly lucky to have experienced all of this. If there were a term to use that meant more than "incredibly lucky" then I would certainly use it. I guess I just don't really know what to say to people anymore. My travels, which are my most important personal memories that I'd like to make more of (besides my circus-like family ones, of course), are the most interesting and most deterring part about me. Those of you that know me well would say, "But, Kaitlin, if that turns someone off to you then you don't want that person to be your friend." This is true. But I also don't want people waving me off because of the way I seem. I've had people simply stop talking to me because they thought I wouldn't be interested in what they have to say.
I'm not going to stop traveling. Trust me, I have a long list of places that I need to get to before I'm pulled away to another world.
But what is wrong with this situation?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Free falling
I've been here before.
I'm used to picking up and leaving. Establishing myself in a foreign place. Planting roots. Being the freshman in college that signs up for everything and then goes a bit manic for the first few weeks. I'm always that freshman in college.
The "big city" doesn't really scare me. I know how to decipher a metro map better than most people can fry an egg. Wear pleather flats in the summer because it rains a lot but it's balmy outside. Dress in layers that you can easily shed and flip on. Always have a book when commuting.
Being here is a different experience for me than it is for most other people that "do the New York thing," as one attorney told me the other day. I didn't come here out of exhilaration and excitement of living in one of the most-populated cities on the planet. I wasn't entranced with the bright lights, constant noise of honking cars that you can't quite place, or the fact that you truly can get whatever you want at whatever time of the day and night. I'm not an artist of some sort trying to burst out of my small town and become famous enough to have my name in those bright lights. I'm not business-minded enough to come just to make money and wear neutral-colored suits every day while never speaking to a soul unless he or she is also wearing similar garb.
Everyone seems to come here for something. I came here for something, too...I won't deny that. I came for a home, for a place to not move from for a few years, to understand that I really could do something completely on my own, to ignore whatever advice I was given that most certainly must follow societal rules and regulations. Most people don't come for a place to call home, they come for something big.
Maybe that's why I feel like I'm free falling my way through all of this. I spent over a month with myself only to end up in a city that isn't really "home" to many people. It's my home. Almost. I still don't have my own room and I've made great buddies with Eleni's couch and bed but that'll change this week...
I haven't been overwhelmed with the city itself, I've been overwhelmed with my life. So, while living here just makes me feel as if I live in Madrid again, I'm obviously waiting to plant my feet. Maybe a better description would be that I have one foot on the beam but I'm wobbling so the other foot is kind of wiggling off to the side and I'm using it to balance myself.
One thing that has really been making me think lately is everyone I have met in my travels. I've traveled a lot and usually it's pretty simple for me to meet people. One awkward, older man told me it was because I'm "hot" and my sweet-as-molasses girl friend told me she couldn't explain it but that I "exude something that reaches out, grabs the other person, and pulls them in." I'm not sure I agree with either of them but one thing is for sure: I make a lot of friends. I call them my week-long best friend. Or my August lover. Or my 9-day man. Or I don't call them anything but we are each other's first and last call of every day.
Most of them disappear...or mostly disappear since Facebook seems to be a must once you spend time with a person. I got lucky last year and made a friend that I now consider one of my closest friends. He stayed at my house for so long we couldn't remember what we had originally agreed upon (thank you, couchsurfing!) and when I fled my life and ran away to Barcelona I was able to be toted around on the back of a moto through the Barceloneta while stopping to eat whatever tapa was appropriate. Bring on the pescaditos fritos! I will eat their squishy heads again!
One Paraguayan and I stayed in touch after my month-long galavanting on random beaches and learning the differences between castellano, whatever it is they speak in Paraguay, and guaraní. But it keeps fading and we probably both see the end in sight and won't admit it to the other so each week we send the appropriate hellohowareyou or, in our case, holaquétaltodo.
So, I've been thinking about everyone I spent time with on this trip once I had left California:
Mira in Sedona who was over my head with her hippiness and herbal healing practices...which is saying a lot since I have been known to spend a lot of time in Berkeley.
Alex Blossom and her crazy boyfriend, Muni, in Albuquerque who were so electric that you just needed to constantly be near them. I think I regret turning down their offer to stay longer.
Jami and her secretly hilarious fiancé, Daniel, in Oklahoma City who had the couch that swallowed me. She promised our mutual friend that she would "take care of me" which she did like a perfect mama.
Jeannie in Little Rock who was as tired as I was all weekend but who also welcomed me into her home with the Spanish feast to make me feel comfortable.
Christo in New Orleans who really needs no description. Everyone knows I love him dearly.
Beau and his teddy bear housemate, Jon, in Birmingham who I was "stuck" with for 10 days instead of 2...
Justin and Jenny in Asheville who took me on a whirlwind of music consumption and eargasms only to send me off after carrot cake pancakes the next morning.
Jim and Peter in DC who were as excited to paint on my canvas as the 20-some year olds were.
But these people have probably all changed my life. When I look back on all my adventures in the past seven years I can remember everyone I made short-term friends with. Most in Spain have endured but that's because I have the help of my favorite non-biological family members and who my mum hopes is someday my future Spanish husband. I've made so many connections around the world that I really don't worry about having a place to stay. When I do, there's always couchsurfing.
I guess it's just a bit jarring to be sitting in my new city, feeling comfortable about living here, knowing how the city works because I've done it a million times, trying to look for the tiny thing I came here for, and being able to reminisce about all of these connections I've made. It's hardest when you feel like you've made a different type of connection with someone and they turn away from you but I guess I'm used to it. It was most eye-opening last summer after I tried running away the first time, sleeping in the car and walking endlessly with three Spanish men I barely knew. When they dropped me off at the airport one of them saw the look on my face (I don't hide emotions well) and said, "Sometimes these things come back around."
And they do. One of those men is now a close friend. The others I barely speak to but all of these people I have a connection with. If I ever go back to Little Rock I know I'll have a place to stay. Albuquerque is somewhere I'd go again even if it did feel disjointed the entire time I was there...I certainly knew I had loved it when I left with a sunburn, a hangover, and sore abs from laughing. Alabama sucked me in but maybe it'll spit out a bit of it in NYC soon so I guess these things turn in a circle.
I guess what I've been trying to say is that I feel grounded here but that my mind is elsewhere which probably isn't helping my cause. Obviously, thoughts of being in the "wrong place" are constantly on my mind but at the same time I feel comfortable. I'm in my own pocket and the person carrying me isn't listening to a word I have to say. Having just met all of these people that have changed my life, well, it's taking me awhile to gather everything up and hold it in one place. The good thing is that I've done this before and these things really do come back around.
I'm used to picking up and leaving. Establishing myself in a foreign place. Planting roots. Being the freshman in college that signs up for everything and then goes a bit manic for the first few weeks. I'm always that freshman in college.
The "big city" doesn't really scare me. I know how to decipher a metro map better than most people can fry an egg. Wear pleather flats in the summer because it rains a lot but it's balmy outside. Dress in layers that you can easily shed and flip on. Always have a book when commuting.
Being here is a different experience for me than it is for most other people that "do the New York thing," as one attorney told me the other day. I didn't come here out of exhilaration and excitement of living in one of the most-populated cities on the planet. I wasn't entranced with the bright lights, constant noise of honking cars that you can't quite place, or the fact that you truly can get whatever you want at whatever time of the day and night. I'm not an artist of some sort trying to burst out of my small town and become famous enough to have my name in those bright lights. I'm not business-minded enough to come just to make money and wear neutral-colored suits every day while never speaking to a soul unless he or she is also wearing similar garb.
Everyone seems to come here for something. I came here for something, too...I won't deny that. I came for a home, for a place to not move from for a few years, to understand that I really could do something completely on my own, to ignore whatever advice I was given that most certainly must follow societal rules and regulations. Most people don't come for a place to call home, they come for something big.
Maybe that's why I feel like I'm free falling my way through all of this. I spent over a month with myself only to end up in a city that isn't really "home" to many people. It's my home. Almost. I still don't have my own room and I've made great buddies with Eleni's couch and bed but that'll change this week...
I haven't been overwhelmed with the city itself, I've been overwhelmed with my life. So, while living here just makes me feel as if I live in Madrid again, I'm obviously waiting to plant my feet. Maybe a better description would be that I have one foot on the beam but I'm wobbling so the other foot is kind of wiggling off to the side and I'm using it to balance myself.
One thing that has really been making me think lately is everyone I have met in my travels. I've traveled a lot and usually it's pretty simple for me to meet people. One awkward, older man told me it was because I'm "hot" and my sweet-as-molasses girl friend told me she couldn't explain it but that I "exude something that reaches out, grabs the other person, and pulls them in." I'm not sure I agree with either of them but one thing is for sure: I make a lot of friends. I call them my week-long best friend. Or my August lover. Or my 9-day man. Or I don't call them anything but we are each other's first and last call of every day.
Most of them disappear...or mostly disappear since Facebook seems to be a must once you spend time with a person. I got lucky last year and made a friend that I now consider one of my closest friends. He stayed at my house for so long we couldn't remember what we had originally agreed upon (thank you, couchsurfing!) and when I fled my life and ran away to Barcelona I was able to be toted around on the back of a moto through the Barceloneta while stopping to eat whatever tapa was appropriate. Bring on the pescaditos fritos! I will eat their squishy heads again!
One Paraguayan and I stayed in touch after my month-long galavanting on random beaches and learning the differences between castellano, whatever it is they speak in Paraguay, and guaraní. But it keeps fading and we probably both see the end in sight and won't admit it to the other so each week we send the appropriate hellohowareyou or, in our case, holaquétaltodo.
So, I've been thinking about everyone I spent time with on this trip once I had left California:
Mira in Sedona who was over my head with her hippiness and herbal healing practices...which is saying a lot since I have been known to spend a lot of time in Berkeley.
Alex Blossom and her crazy boyfriend, Muni, in Albuquerque who were so electric that you just needed to constantly be near them. I think I regret turning down their offer to stay longer.
Jami and her secretly hilarious fiancé, Daniel, in Oklahoma City who had the couch that swallowed me. She promised our mutual friend that she would "take care of me" which she did like a perfect mama.
Jeannie in Little Rock who was as tired as I was all weekend but who also welcomed me into her home with the Spanish feast to make me feel comfortable.
Christo in New Orleans who really needs no description. Everyone knows I love him dearly.
Beau and his teddy bear housemate, Jon, in Birmingham who I was "stuck" with for 10 days instead of 2...
Justin and Jenny in Asheville who took me on a whirlwind of music consumption and eargasms only to send me off after carrot cake pancakes the next morning.
Jim and Peter in DC who were as excited to paint on my canvas as the 20-some year olds were.
But these people have probably all changed my life. When I look back on all my adventures in the past seven years I can remember everyone I made short-term friends with. Most in Spain have endured but that's because I have the help of my favorite non-biological family members and who my mum hopes is someday my future Spanish husband. I've made so many connections around the world that I really don't worry about having a place to stay. When I do, there's always couchsurfing.
I guess it's just a bit jarring to be sitting in my new city, feeling comfortable about living here, knowing how the city works because I've done it a million times, trying to look for the tiny thing I came here for, and being able to reminisce about all of these connections I've made. It's hardest when you feel like you've made a different type of connection with someone and they turn away from you but I guess I'm used to it. It was most eye-opening last summer after I tried running away the first time, sleeping in the car and walking endlessly with three Spanish men I barely knew. When they dropped me off at the airport one of them saw the look on my face (I don't hide emotions well) and said, "Sometimes these things come back around."
And they do. One of those men is now a close friend. The others I barely speak to but all of these people I have a connection with. If I ever go back to Little Rock I know I'll have a place to stay. Albuquerque is somewhere I'd go again even if it did feel disjointed the entire time I was there...I certainly knew I had loved it when I left with a sunburn, a hangover, and sore abs from laughing. Alabama sucked me in but maybe it'll spit out a bit of it in NYC soon so I guess these things turn in a circle.
I guess what I've been trying to say is that I feel grounded here but that my mind is elsewhere which probably isn't helping my cause. Obviously, thoughts of being in the "wrong place" are constantly on my mind but at the same time I feel comfortable. I'm in my own pocket and the person carrying me isn't listening to a word I have to say. Having just met all of these people that have changed my life, well, it's taking me awhile to gather everything up and hold it in one place. The good thing is that I've done this before and these things really do come back around.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
My New Life
I started out on this journey of wandering not knowing where I would end up. I had a good idea that the only other places I could enjoy living in for a few years (if not more) were big cities on the east coast. Luckily, but sadly, I escaped the South to finally end up here.
DC was a bust from the beginning. I thoroughly enjoy being there and there's a certain exhilaration and excitement that one gets when walking around the city. It's a city without actually being a city. It's homey but you can't really feel "at home." Everyone says it's a great place for young people but it really isn't. It's a lovely place - one where you could wander for hours and never bore of the sites you're seeing - and, let's face it, it's where our country happens. The life coming out of DC is unmatchable and for however much people will try to deny how attractive it is, they all feel it.
I'll be back to DC. This is certain.
Life happened really fast in the past week. Actually, I can barely believe it's already been a week! I knew that I'd be stopping in NYC for an indefinite time period to decide if I wanted to live there. When I started only hearing back from jobs there and no other city (more or less), I started to question what was coming for me. I'm pretty sure none of my family members or closest friends would've predicted that I'd end up in New York. They aren't surprised, that's for sure, but most put me in Boston...a couple went for my gut and told me I'd end up in DC. One great friend who usually has spot-on advice said I'd never leave the South...he was half right.
Then, while walking down the firefly-lit hill in Asheville, NC, I received a message from my best friend from high school. She's one of those people that you don't really consider a friend - she's basically family. In the message, she offered for me to come live with her starting July 1st in Brooklyn. She and her roommates had better housing opportunities if there were four people instead of three and I was looking for a place to call home. Soon enough I'll know whether or not I made the best decision or the worst decision of my young, wide-eyed life.
I told her that I was ready to move to New York and that I trusted whatever she thought was best.
My mind was in a bit of shock and I didn't realize what I had done until the next morning. I always "realize" things in the shower (you do too, don't deny it) and when I got out, made myself "ready for the day", grabbed my pajamas off the floor, and stepped out into the living room, my host, Justin, was standing there asking if I was ready to go grab some breakfast. I just stood there for a couple seconds dumbfounded and said, "I'm really not sure what I'm ready for but I know that my life is going to be a lot of city for the next few years."
DC kind of moved in a fog. I was dead-tired and there were so many people to see and meet...so much food to eat! About 30 minutes after leaving DC I received another text from my friend, Eleni, in Brooklyn claiming that they had found a great place and wanted to put a deposit down right away.
I guess at first I was overcome with adrenaline. I set out looking for a new home and didn't really know where I was going to end up...I honestly didn't care as long as I felt right wherever it was. I came close to not even making it this far. I love you, New Orleans! I love you, Alabama! Let's throw Mississippi in there, too. And after more than a month I could finally say that I was going home. My new home. And what I had said from the beginning still holds mostly true: I have never been to Brooklyn. I was moving to a place I'd never been to.
I was blasting my music and looking like an idiot with a huge grin while going through toll booth after toll booth between DC and NYC. I was going home! Everything was ending and beginning at the same time.
The first night was spent being a 14-year old girl gleefully giggling and gossiping with Eleni since we hadn't seen each other in wedon'trememberhowlong. I met one of my new flatmates, Sarah, who came out for a drink with us at a perfectly Brooklyn bar with trophies lining the wall. Eleni took me to a neighborhood staple called Roberta's where we ate an entire pizza and were presented with "accidental" extra beer and cider.
This is my new life. Remember that, Kaitlin.
The next day was a whirlwind of interviews for various law firms and meet ups with friends from college. Eleni's cousin, Tina, came through town so we went to sushi with her and her friends. Eleni, Tina, and I all went to the same high school so it was a funny juxtaposition of life, of home, all burrowed up in the East Village. That night I practically collapsed in Eleni's bed and didn't wake up or move until 10am the following day.
Yesterday, as I roamed the streets in SoHo attempting to buy more professional clothes since I've had so many interviews and my clothes from CA aren't here yet, I felt much better about this new life. I had been so overwhelmed and sleep-deprived the day before that I was almost wondering what the hell I was doing in NYC. But as I skittered over beneath an overhang to escape the sudden darkness and downpour that overtook the city, and I looked around at all the other people making their valiant attempts to walk one more block, and I looked at the people pretending the rain didn't bother them but they really just wanted to punch someone, and I just knew to wait calmly because it would pass in a few minutes...it's like God telling you to slow down for a second. This wasn't the first time I was living in a big city. I knew what to do before I even realized it.
I realized that this city reminds me of living in Madrid again. For those of you that know me well, you need no other explanation. For those of you that don't, Madrid is my other home. California and Madrid. Maybe I have a "home" now in Brooklyn but home is always California or Madrid.
So, I kind of chuckled and directed it at my phone even though it wouldn't have mattered if I laughed at the sky since "we're all mad here."
Then I did what I've been doing for a lot of this road trip when something like this has come my way...I turned up the street and walked a bit more slowly.
Note: I will continue with this blog until I feel it is unnecessary to my new life's course. Expect more updates. I'll continue to blog about trying and failing (or winning) at being a New Yorker, what's going on with my job situation, new things I experience...this blog will obviously change course just slightly but a city like this doesn't sink into your skin right away.
DC was a bust from the beginning. I thoroughly enjoy being there and there's a certain exhilaration and excitement that one gets when walking around the city. It's a city without actually being a city. It's homey but you can't really feel "at home." Everyone says it's a great place for young people but it really isn't. It's a lovely place - one where you could wander for hours and never bore of the sites you're seeing - and, let's face it, it's where our country happens. The life coming out of DC is unmatchable and for however much people will try to deny how attractive it is, they all feel it.
I'll be back to DC. This is certain.
Life happened really fast in the past week. Actually, I can barely believe it's already been a week! I knew that I'd be stopping in NYC for an indefinite time period to decide if I wanted to live there. When I started only hearing back from jobs there and no other city (more or less), I started to question what was coming for me. I'm pretty sure none of my family members or closest friends would've predicted that I'd end up in New York. They aren't surprised, that's for sure, but most put me in Boston...a couple went for my gut and told me I'd end up in DC. One great friend who usually has spot-on advice said I'd never leave the South...he was half right.
Then, while walking down the firefly-lit hill in Asheville, NC, I received a message from my best friend from high school. She's one of those people that you don't really consider a friend - she's basically family. In the message, she offered for me to come live with her starting July 1st in Brooklyn. She and her roommates had better housing opportunities if there were four people instead of three and I was looking for a place to call home. Soon enough I'll know whether or not I made the best decision or the worst decision of my young, wide-eyed life.
I told her that I was ready to move to New York and that I trusted whatever she thought was best.
My mind was in a bit of shock and I didn't realize what I had done until the next morning. I always "realize" things in the shower (you do too, don't deny it) and when I got out, made myself "ready for the day", grabbed my pajamas off the floor, and stepped out into the living room, my host, Justin, was standing there asking if I was ready to go grab some breakfast. I just stood there for a couple seconds dumbfounded and said, "I'm really not sure what I'm ready for but I know that my life is going to be a lot of city for the next few years."
DC kind of moved in a fog. I was dead-tired and there were so many people to see and meet...so much food to eat! About 30 minutes after leaving DC I received another text from my friend, Eleni, in Brooklyn claiming that they had found a great place and wanted to put a deposit down right away.
I guess at first I was overcome with adrenaline. I set out looking for a new home and didn't really know where I was going to end up...I honestly didn't care as long as I felt right wherever it was. I came close to not even making it this far. I love you, New Orleans! I love you, Alabama! Let's throw Mississippi in there, too. And after more than a month I could finally say that I was going home. My new home. And what I had said from the beginning still holds mostly true: I have never been to Brooklyn. I was moving to a place I'd never been to.
I was blasting my music and looking like an idiot with a huge grin while going through toll booth after toll booth between DC and NYC. I was going home! Everything was ending and beginning at the same time.
The first night was spent being a 14-year old girl gleefully giggling and gossiping with Eleni since we hadn't seen each other in wedon'trememberhowlong. I met one of my new flatmates, Sarah, who came out for a drink with us at a perfectly Brooklyn bar with trophies lining the wall. Eleni took me to a neighborhood staple called Roberta's where we ate an entire pizza and were presented with "accidental" extra beer and cider.
This is my new life. Remember that, Kaitlin.
The next day was a whirlwind of interviews for various law firms and meet ups with friends from college. Eleni's cousin, Tina, came through town so we went to sushi with her and her friends. Eleni, Tina, and I all went to the same high school so it was a funny juxtaposition of life, of home, all burrowed up in the East Village. That night I practically collapsed in Eleni's bed and didn't wake up or move until 10am the following day.
Yesterday, as I roamed the streets in SoHo attempting to buy more professional clothes since I've had so many interviews and my clothes from CA aren't here yet, I felt much better about this new life. I had been so overwhelmed and sleep-deprived the day before that I was almost wondering what the hell I was doing in NYC. But as I skittered over beneath an overhang to escape the sudden darkness and downpour that overtook the city, and I looked around at all the other people making their valiant attempts to walk one more block, and I looked at the people pretending the rain didn't bother them but they really just wanted to punch someone, and I just knew to wait calmly because it would pass in a few minutes...it's like God telling you to slow down for a second. This wasn't the first time I was living in a big city. I knew what to do before I even realized it.
I realized that this city reminds me of living in Madrid again. For those of you that know me well, you need no other explanation. For those of you that don't, Madrid is my other home. California and Madrid. Maybe I have a "home" now in Brooklyn but home is always California or Madrid.
So, I kind of chuckled and directed it at my phone even though it wouldn't have mattered if I laughed at the sky since "we're all mad here."
Then I did what I've been doing for a lot of this road trip when something like this has come my way...I turned up the street and walked a bit more slowly.
Note: I will continue with this blog until I feel it is unnecessary to my new life's course. Expect more updates. I'll continue to blog about trying and failing (or winning) at being a New Yorker, what's going on with my job situation, new things I experience...this blog will obviously change course just slightly but a city like this doesn't sink into your skin right away.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Washington, DC
I'm fat.
I ate so much food that I think I might be fat.
Or, rather, Peter's parents thought it their mission to make me eat as much delicious, rich food as I possibly could so that I'd have a cute, little Buddha belly by the time I needed to put my tiny bikini on to jump in the pool to erase the thin film on "east coast love" (aka sweat and grime) that had slowly accumulated all over my body over the last few hours.
I also just realized that I've had that bikini for seven years. I'd get rid of it but I look so nice in it...
Anyway, I arrived through rain, sun, hail, and thunder to DC on Saturday evening to be greeted with gourmet food and paired wine (which I mentioned before). Upon waking up from my stony slumber on Sunday morning, I quickly showered, ate some type of quiche and drank some orange juice which had been prepared that morning, and headed out to the National Mall for the quickest tour of the Capitol that could possibly have been done. I've been known to "do" cities quickly but DC was difficult. The last time I was there I was stuck in conferences and seminars and only discreetly managed to slip away after convincing Christo it was a good idea to keep his mouth shut on my whereabouts. This time I decided I'd take the metro to the Mall and walk around the perimeter to see all the monuments and museums. My intent was only to walk into one museum but I didn't even get around to that.
As it was Father's Day I thought it was appropriate to call my lovely father while I was walking past this:
And this (the WWII memorial):
Then I rounded out to the Korean War Memorial. I was especially interested in seeing this since my maternal grandfather fought there. I've seen pictures of this memorial but the feeling I got from it was more bitter than one of remembrance and sorrow.
The looks on the faces of the statues were ones of fright and pain. Instead of looking valiant they looked as if they were running away from something.
Then there was the part that made me wonder about who designed this memorial. There is a reflection pool that is not quite a full circle and in the middle there juts a big marble slab with the quote "Freedom is not free" etched into it. I'm not sure about you but that definitely conjures up different emotions for me than I thought a war memorial would...
Along the side there are ghostly images of soldiers all staring at you.
I was really excited and starting to get a bit antsy to make it to the Lincoln Memorial. After so many weeks in the South and going through all of the civil rights hullabaloo, it was exciting to walk to the top of the steps and look out at the view MLK, Jr., must've had when he gave his "I Have a Dream" speech. I tried to imagine the thousands of people on the Mall and it started to get overwhelming and give me the sense that I was falling over so I moved inside.
I feel a bit ashamed to say this but one of the first things I thought of when I looked at the immense figure in front of me was "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to get on his bad side." Then I continued to think, "That's a bit how my dad looked when I'd get home after my curfew..."
Surprisingly, I wanted to spend the most time at the Vietnam War Memorial. The walls kind of grow out of the ground and more names are added to each ice-black chunk of marble as they get bigger. There were roses lining the feet of the names, each with its own particular person's name on it. People were looking for relatives' names and one man, a little older than me, seemed to be weeping as he shaded over the name of his father or uncle or grandfather...two toddlers were pressing their heads against the wall and trying to hug it. Adults were yelling at other adults "I found it!" The whole scene made me envision what an Iraq/Afghanistan Memorial will look like in the future. I guess that's the only way I could try to make this more personal...
For the iconic view of the White House, this is as far as we were able to go and still take pictures. Surprisingly, if you go around the back, you can practically walk right up to it. My interview on Monday morning was just around the corner from the back and actually surprised me as I turned the corner. Maybe I thought it was surrounded by vast expanses of water-sucking grass on all sides...?
I would've done more sight-seeing but I have this incredible knack for being in DC and being short on time. Fortunately, I got to go "home" to this:
Since it was my first Father's Day without my own father, I was given Jim as my surrogate for the day. Jim and his partner, Peter, were having a big family get-together that involved strenuous activity in their backyard pool, eating copious amounts of grilled meats, stuffing some type of sliced and baked potatoes into my mouth, as well as whatever else was passed over to me from the previous person. After an excellent tournament of "keeping the ball up as long as possible with help from Annie (the dog)", we all had no choice but to test Myrna's (Peter's mum) cherry pie and chocolate cake which could barely stand up on its own.
I went to bed as early as possible because I knew I had a long day approaching me. I wanted to see the Library of Congress (nerd I am, yes) and the Supreme Court before heading off to NYC. Luckily, Gaels are everywhere. For some reason, however annoying and childish SMC can be, we tend to occupy all of the important and interesting cities in the world. The greatest part about being a Gael is that no matter how good of friends you were in college, you know that you'll always have a friend when you're in their vicinity.
MaryEileen happened to be someone that I worked with in Admissions, didn't know too well but definitely hung out with a similar crowd, and then moved to DC for her MA program in some extra-scholarly English field. Because of the power of Facebook, we were able to randomly hook up and she took me on a whirlwind tour of both sites I wanted to see. She also provided me with some of the few pictures I have of myself at sites from this entire road trip!
At the Library of Congress
Where I will work someday...
View looking from the Supreme Court out....
Hey! Check me out!
For however much I am a nerd and can fight you to the death about specific authors' writings, I happened to love the Supreme Court a bit more. It is so foreboding and surreally enormous. You almost feel as if you're walking up to a backdrop or a movie projector screen. I just couldn't wipe the smile off my face (cue Kaitlin wiping away her drool) and wanted to go hug one of the columns. There is a picture of me getting in trouble with one of the security officers when I tried to go up the stairs "without permission or entering first." I'm sure you aren't surprised. I would've camped out on the steps if I could've.
By 1pm I was back in my car leaving Capitol Hill and trying not to cry inside from saying I was actually leaving that magical and uber-political place. Next stop: NYC. To be honest, I originally wasn't going to stop there because I had never assumed it'd be a place I wanted to live. When I started my trip I practically scoffed at the idea of being so cliche. Of making that "easy" choice. As I continued on my trip, I was convinced time and again to take a closer look at the city. Finally, in Arkansas if I remember correctly, I pretended I was moving to NYC and while looking at job opportunities I realized that it was a much better place than I had given it credit for. In fact, it might've been the place I should've been looking all along. I guess I was looking for a reason not to go for quite some time.
The more I thought about it in Arkansas and New Orleans, the more I looked at the opportunities. Then, when I received the crazy news that would change the course of my journey, I guess my idea of the city changed. I knew then that I had to go even if just to spend time with one of the greatest women I know - Eleni - and my cousin and all the Gaels that were transplanted here over the last few years. It was an excuse to come to NYC. It gave me validation that everything was okay and that I didn't really have to give a rat's ass what everyone else said about me going to the city that everyone on the west coast slides over to. I had made up my mind to go and just see what happened.
I finally made it after an afternoon in traffic and over $20 in tolls - "Welcome back to reality, Kaitlin!"
Picture of Broadway running through Brooklyn during a walk with Eleni and her roommate.
Anyway, so now I'm stationed in Brooklyn...don't ask me which part, I'm still getting a lay of the land. This entry has turned into a three-day affair and I'm finally sick of this post. Tomorrow I will write a comprehensive entry about what I'm doing here and what my ultimate goal is because I plan on being fabulously lazy and catching up on all of the laziness that I deserve (according to Eleni). Maybe I'll take some crap out of my car, too. For those of you who haven't been in close contact with me, you're in for a great surprise tomorrow :)
Until then...goodnight from Brooklyn.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
If Ashland was 10 years older...
I know you'll hardly believe me but I finally got out of Birmingham. It tried its damnedest to get me to stay - my shirt even smells like one aspect of B'ham - but I'm out!
I made it to Asheville yesterday evening after a very slow start. After speaking to both Jenny and Justin (friend's of Beau and Jon's who I was supposed to stay with), I was encouraged to try the indian food at Mela for dinner while I waited to meet these supposedly fabulous people whom I'd love. And, yes, indian food in North Carolina is quite a conundrum but it was as good as anything you'd get in the bay...although that may not be saying much.
There was a concert going on in part of the downtown area which inevitably made downtown only pedestrian-accessible because, let's face it, Asheville isn't huge.
Since I've developed such a knack for wandering and doing it in the best of ways, I waited for Jenny by stuffing my face with a mixture of masala, rice, and naan, and trying to finish my very "subtle lavender martini" while trying to avoid the "edible flower" that the bartender insisted I would not regret...
Anyway, once I convinced the bartender that I wanted to slap across the face that I was finished and would not like a box (where am I going to keep leftovers on a road trip - my pocket?), I walked down through the all equally-independent clothing stores clinking along the bricks that hadn't been secured properly with cement. All of the clinking bricks made me think we were playing with tinker toys but, unfortunately, once you're an adult that is no longer possible and all you think about is stepping on one that is too loose. Or, as Jenny says happens in the winter, "they're so loose that you step on one and the water practically goes up your underpants!"
I had been told great things about "The Orange Peel" music venue and, seeing as I've been to live music in every city on this trip, I trusted my new friends and decided to go see Chelsea Lynn Labate and the Josh Phillips Folk Festival perform.
I mean...it also helped that I was on the guest list (thank you, Justin!) so it wasn't going to matter much if I didn't like the atmosphere. Fortunately, you can't go wrong with a draft beer from the South and some music that you can't stop moving to. Chelsea sounded like Regina Spektor which was an interesting surprise and also influenced my music preference for today's drive...
...and thought, "Suck it, stupid storm!" Only to meet up with another one in a few minutes.
After an extra hour in the car that I didn't think I'd have, I started pulling in to Washington, DC. I realized I was having some major culture shock. It's not like I've never been to cities like this. In fact, I've lived in big cities my whole life. I even moved my fat ass to Madrid for a bit which just happens to be one of the biggest cities in Europe. But when I saw that carpool lane...oh, man. What was I going to do? Could I get in it? What time was it? How many people are a "carpool"?
Then I got to Jim and Peter's stunning house in the Palisades near Georgetown...wine? What's that? You mean it's not brown or yellow? It doesn't come in a pint glass? I don't have to cook dinner? I'M ACTUALLY BEING COOKED FOR?!? None of this makes sense! Everyone talks to fast! Everyone walks so quickly! There are so many cars and things to do and people walking around and my life is going to be nothingbutcitiesfromhereonoutuntilIdon'tknowwhenandthat'sfreakingmeout!
So...I'm in DC. I've had an official tour of the house I'm staying in, rejected the overly creepy and haunting attic room for the "blue room" that seems to be calming enough except for a woman's ghostly portrait staring at me while I'm sitting calmly and sweetly typing out this entry. I'm stuffed full of home-grown greens with bacon, shell pasta with onions, garlic, peppers, and whatever else could've been grown here. We had some type of broccoli soup with bread, also. Everything homemade. Multiple glasses of wine and a calm walk through the neighborhood with overly energetic Lily who doesn't even need a leash.
I didn't know what to do with myself. It was as if...as if...*gulp*...I was at home.
But not where I wanted to be either.
I guess DC never could've been my home seeing as it was to follow the South on these wanderings of mine. It just can't live up to everything I've been through in the last few weeks. So...I'm sorry, DC. We can't be lovers just yet.
Tomorrow I'm going to do a few touristy things before coming back for a pool party of sorts. Jim and Peter's daughter, Clare, is coming over as well as her two mothers and her grandmother. The neighbors are coming over, too. There will be good food. Although I'm sure that last comment is a bit redundant seeing as it's Jim and Peter.
This culture shock is driving me nuts so I think walking around the city will help me calm down. I've had quite a change of life happen in the last 2-3 days so I probably just need to settle in again for a bit. I'll write a more cohesive entry tomorrow night. I've realized wine doesn't necessarily make me a great writer.
Until then, yes, I'm going to the Library of Congress to be a nerd.
Sorry, Nashville!
It wasn't the worst drive ever since it mostly looked like this:
I made it to Asheville yesterday evening after a very slow start. After speaking to both Jenny and Justin (friend's of Beau and Jon's who I was supposed to stay with), I was encouraged to try the indian food at Mela for dinner while I waited to meet these supposedly fabulous people whom I'd love. And, yes, indian food in North Carolina is quite a conundrum but it was as good as anything you'd get in the bay...although that may not be saying much.
Inside the restaurant.
Outside the restaurant.
There was a concert going on in part of the downtown area which inevitably made downtown only pedestrian-accessible because, let's face it, Asheville isn't huge.
Since I've developed such a knack for wandering and doing it in the best of ways, I waited for Jenny by stuffing my face with a mixture of masala, rice, and naan, and trying to finish my very "subtle lavender martini" while trying to avoid the "edible flower" that the bartender insisted I would not regret...
Anyway, once I convinced the bartender that I wanted to slap across the face that I was finished and would not like a box (where am I going to keep leftovers on a road trip - my pocket?), I walked down through the all equally-independent clothing stores clinking along the bricks that hadn't been secured properly with cement. All of the clinking bricks made me think we were playing with tinker toys but, unfortunately, once you're an adult that is no longer possible and all you think about is stepping on one that is too loose. Or, as Jenny says happens in the winter, "they're so loose that you step on one and the water practically goes up your underpants!"
I had been told great things about "The Orange Peel" music venue and, seeing as I've been to live music in every city on this trip, I trusted my new friends and decided to go see Chelsea Lynn Labate and the Josh Phillips Folk Festival perform.
According to Jenny who knew every soul in Asheville but had a joke for each one we needed to go see some more bands. I acquiesced only after inwardly pouting that I couldn't dance some more but we were going to see a band that had something to do with aliens at a place called Mo' Daddy's. How can you go wrong, right? It wasn't worth it. I did get a free CD, though. I cheated on the "nerd quiz" but nobody else had the guts to do it! If you're present at a "nerd quiz" just answer "Ed Wood" to everything and I'm sure you'll win some goodie.
Then we half-drunkenly moved on to try and catch Justin's little brother's CD release party at another bar that I can't remember the name of. I never met said brother and actually got stuck talking to people that were arguing about the influence of electrons in the world and how that affects the collective unconscious. No, that's not a joke so stop asking if I make this crap up for comedic effect. I was trying to stay alert enough to look at baby picture after baby picture while contributing to a very Asheville-like conversation about freakin' electrons and whether or not it was the "collective unconscious" or the "collective conscious."
That's pretty much how my Asheville visit went.
Jenny and Justin do have the quirkiest house I've stayed in yet...
Jenny on the porch in front of the "walk through thyme" on the "yellow brick road."
Back lounge-y area.
Backyard.
Jenny is an awesome artist...
Or, rather, a quirky one.
Justin played jazz music to wake up in the morning. This means he is accepted as "cool."
Couch that was my bed!
Porch swing that tried to be my night lover.
This morning I missed Jenny as she was very hell-bent on going on a hike. She told me the secret password was to stand on one foot and she was worried that she'd be the only person in the cafe standing on one foot so she'd order breakfast to seem semi-normal for a bit. Since Justin and I seemed to have pretty good conversation once he got home in the middle of the night (he runs sound at the Orange Peel), we decided to grab some breakfast. One lox bagel and two carrot cake pancakes later we had decided that girls always give him the short end of the stick, guys never believe that I actually like musicians' hours (hey, I've got shit to do, too), and that we'd see each other again when he headed up north with the Warped Tour (which he also runs sound for).
Then it was on to DC where I'd be staying with my dad's freshman roommate from college which means he's just incredibly ancient. Or not. I thought that comment would make my dad uncomfortable while he reads this blog. Hey, dad.
Anyway, it was going to be a long drive. I set off only about 30 minutes late but ran into quite a few storms. I'm sorry Californians but if you have never experienced storms outside of our beautiful, unique state then you have no clue what I'm talking about. It doesn't just rain out here. The drops tumble down to your windshield almost in a contest as to see how obscure they can make the road seem to you. I started to think, "Hey, it's pouring again! It's like going to the car wash!" Complete with your car being beaten to a pulp and some invisible presence throwing buckets of water at you in a dare to see how much slower they can make you drive.
At one point I thought I was done so I snapped a picture of this...
After an extra hour in the car that I didn't think I'd have, I started pulling in to Washington, DC. I realized I was having some major culture shock. It's not like I've never been to cities like this. In fact, I've lived in big cities my whole life. I even moved my fat ass to Madrid for a bit which just happens to be one of the biggest cities in Europe. But when I saw that carpool lane...oh, man. What was I going to do? Could I get in it? What time was it? How many people are a "carpool"?
Then I got to Jim and Peter's stunning house in the Palisades near Georgetown...wine? What's that? You mean it's not brown or yellow? It doesn't come in a pint glass? I don't have to cook dinner? I'M ACTUALLY BEING COOKED FOR?!? None of this makes sense! Everyone talks to fast! Everyone walks so quickly! There are so many cars and things to do and people walking around and my life is going to be nothingbutcitiesfromhereonoutuntilIdon'tknowwhenandthat'sfreakingmeout!
So...I'm in DC. I've had an official tour of the house I'm staying in, rejected the overly creepy and haunting attic room for the "blue room" that seems to be calming enough except for a woman's ghostly portrait staring at me while I'm sitting calmly and sweetly typing out this entry. I'm stuffed full of home-grown greens with bacon, shell pasta with onions, garlic, peppers, and whatever else could've been grown here. We had some type of broccoli soup with bread, also. Everything homemade. Multiple glasses of wine and a calm walk through the neighborhood with overly energetic Lily who doesn't even need a leash.
I didn't know what to do with myself. It was as if...as if...*gulp*...I was at home.
But not where I wanted to be either.
I guess DC never could've been my home seeing as it was to follow the South on these wanderings of mine. It just can't live up to everything I've been through in the last few weeks. So...I'm sorry, DC. We can't be lovers just yet.
Tomorrow I'm going to do a few touristy things before coming back for a pool party of sorts. Jim and Peter's daughter, Clare, is coming over as well as her two mothers and her grandmother. The neighbors are coming over, too. There will be good food. Although I'm sure that last comment is a bit redundant seeing as it's Jim and Peter.
This culture shock is driving me nuts so I think walking around the city will help me calm down. I've had quite a change of life happen in the last 2-3 days so I probably just need to settle in again for a bit. I'll write a more cohesive entry tomorrow night. I've realized wine doesn't necessarily make me a great writer.
Until then, yes, I'm going to the Library of Congress to be a nerd.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Ready, Set, Go!
A few mildly important and journey-altering events have taken place in the past two days so I thought you all would be interested in knowing why I won't be visiting as many cities as I previously thought I would...
I tried to leave Birmingham yesterday. Everything was back in the car and mostly in good order...I feel as if my impeccable organization skills have become not-so-impeccable because I feel like I just don't care anymore. Maybe that's what happens when you can feel the California being sucked out of you. I said goodbye to my favorite Jon and dearest Beau. I even got in the bitty Versa and zipped away towards North Carolina and, despite my first worries of starting out driving so late (sorry, mum!), I couldn't get enough of that yellow-tinged air that always occurs everywhere in the world when the sun is about to set.
I had been set up with friends of Jon and Beau to stay in Asheville, North Carolina, for two nights and try to see why almost every person on this whole trip has recommended it. One sweet tea Southern girl told me last night that she thought if I go to Asheville then that's where I'll stay.
Side note: I think a blog post about all of the advice I've received is in order...
Then I get a phone call that made me turn back around and return to Birmingham for the night. It involved a lot of awkwardly implied "suggestions" that the timing for staying in Asheville was off. After a few more phone calls, I was turned around driving the 90 miles back to the place that I thought I was done with.
Normally, this wouldn't have bothered me much seeing as I've loved Alabama and clearly enjoyed the people in it. I think what really got to me was the fact that is was a hard place to leave but I had already talked myself into it. The larger reason was that I have to be in DC to meet someone on Sunday and then have an interview there on Monday morning (two blocks from the White House!) only to then have to drive to NYC for two interviews on Tuesday and Wednesday. That's a lot of driving and moving, if you didn't realize.
Basically, I was in the mental state that I had left one part of my life behind me and that everything else was about to start. This whole trip...rather...for the past four months I have not known what my future is going to be. I certainly am never deficient of ideas but not knowing where you're going to live or whether you even have job prospects is a bit daunting. After traveling for so long I guess I just delved into my own mind and learned to be very present in this adventure. There was nothing I really had to think about. There are no attachments. There was no time frame. I just needed a place that my heart loved and that calmed my mind.
So, now that I have to be certain places and actually have something important enough to put in my no-longer-lonely calendar I felt as if I was just turning my back on it. Yes, I know that may sound ridiculous and most of you are probably thinking, "But, Kaitlin, you're only behind one day!" And I say to you, "But, all of you stagnant shakers of the world, I had already moved on and there's a new life I'm starting to live!"
This change of mindset I've experienced in the past month made it frustrating to turn around and come back. Then again...there was a lightning storm I got to witness and pulling up to the house did kind of feel like home.
Today I'm going to try again. My body is yelling at me for a cup of tea, my hair straightener probably needs to cool off, there is one postcard to send to the lovely Anita back in Sacramento, and then I'll be heading down a highway of deja vu (sorry about the accents - I can't figure them out - where's an Apple employee when you need one?) through Alabama, the tip of Georgia, Tennessee, and into North Carolina for one night where I'm told I won't sleep much.
I asked Beau - who I'll now consider my coincidental friend of kindred spirit due to the two of us continuing to have the same plans and problems - why I keep getting sucked back in to Birmingham. He told me it was the southern quicksand. There really is no better way to describe it.
I tried to leave Birmingham yesterday. Everything was back in the car and mostly in good order...I feel as if my impeccable organization skills have become not-so-impeccable because I feel like I just don't care anymore. Maybe that's what happens when you can feel the California being sucked out of you. I said goodbye to my favorite Jon and dearest Beau. I even got in the bitty Versa and zipped away towards North Carolina and, despite my first worries of starting out driving so late (sorry, mum!), I couldn't get enough of that yellow-tinged air that always occurs everywhere in the world when the sun is about to set.
I had been set up with friends of Jon and Beau to stay in Asheville, North Carolina, for two nights and try to see why almost every person on this whole trip has recommended it. One sweet tea Southern girl told me last night that she thought if I go to Asheville then that's where I'll stay.
Side note: I think a blog post about all of the advice I've received is in order...
Then I get a phone call that made me turn back around and return to Birmingham for the night. It involved a lot of awkwardly implied "suggestions" that the timing for staying in Asheville was off. After a few more phone calls, I was turned around driving the 90 miles back to the place that I thought I was done with.
Normally, this wouldn't have bothered me much seeing as I've loved Alabama and clearly enjoyed the people in it. I think what really got to me was the fact that is was a hard place to leave but I had already talked myself into it. The larger reason was that I have to be in DC to meet someone on Sunday and then have an interview there on Monday morning (two blocks from the White House!) only to then have to drive to NYC for two interviews on Tuesday and Wednesday. That's a lot of driving and moving, if you didn't realize.
Basically, I was in the mental state that I had left one part of my life behind me and that everything else was about to start. This whole trip...rather...for the past four months I have not known what my future is going to be. I certainly am never deficient of ideas but not knowing where you're going to live or whether you even have job prospects is a bit daunting. After traveling for so long I guess I just delved into my own mind and learned to be very present in this adventure. There was nothing I really had to think about. There are no attachments. There was no time frame. I just needed a place that my heart loved and that calmed my mind.
So, now that I have to be certain places and actually have something important enough to put in my no-longer-lonely calendar I felt as if I was just turning my back on it. Yes, I know that may sound ridiculous and most of you are probably thinking, "But, Kaitlin, you're only behind one day!" And I say to you, "But, all of you stagnant shakers of the world, I had already moved on and there's a new life I'm starting to live!"
This change of mindset I've experienced in the past month made it frustrating to turn around and come back. Then again...there was a lightning storm I got to witness and pulling up to the house did kind of feel like home.
Today I'm going to try again. My body is yelling at me for a cup of tea, my hair straightener probably needs to cool off, there is one postcard to send to the lovely Anita back in Sacramento, and then I'll be heading down a highway of deja vu (sorry about the accents - I can't figure them out - where's an Apple employee when you need one?) through Alabama, the tip of Georgia, Tennessee, and into North Carolina for one night where I'm told I won't sleep much.
I asked Beau - who I'll now consider my coincidental friend of kindred spirit due to the two of us continuing to have the same plans and problems - why I keep getting sucked back in to Birmingham. He told me it was the southern quicksand. There really is no better way to describe it.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Most Boring City & Why I'm Still Here
Warning: There are a ton of photos in this post. So...sorry. Or maybe "you're welcome" depending on who you are.
Yes, I am still in Birmingham five days later. I thought I would've posted this sooner but I've delved into the southern dreamworld of Pat Conroy and can't quite find my way out yet...which seems a bit redundant.
Yesterday, I was told through the blasting music of whatever singer was appropriate enough to make you long for the previous band again (more on this and belly dancers further down), the cacophony of southern accents mixed with plain Jane voices, and the gravel everyone was stepping on also longing for its own say before the night was over but was only capable of grumbling under everyone's feet, "Don't get sucked in here." It was said in all sincerity and the only response I could give was that I won't and simply because I need a big city. But that was all.
Let's go back to the beginning. I finally escaped New Orleans even though it certainly tried to keep me there by throwing thunder and hailstorms my way which were enough to make me pull over on the freeway under a bridge. The rain that followed me the whole way combined with the never-ending landscape of almost un-navigable forest made me even less excited to be going to Birmingham, Alabama.
I arrived around 7:30 and was promptly greeted by my host, Beau, who probably had the greatest way of welcoming me that I've had on this long trip so far: "Hey, how was your drive? Do you want a beer?" After one, maybe two, Beau and his incredibly sweet-yet-jovial housemate, Jon, and I all headed out to a restaurant named Rojo. On the way, we stopped to look at this (sorry for it being a bit blurry but I have faith in your imagination):
Yes! Birmingham is a real city!
On my first sight-seeing day I was encouraged to go to the botanical gardens because they were beautiful as well as free. Ding ding ding! Winner!
The botanical gardens was more or less a success except for the fact that, um, it's hot in the South in the summer. Who is dumb enough to be walking around outside in the suppressing heat and lazy humidity? Ding ding ding! Kaitlin wins.
The next stop was the Apple store to meet up with Beau for lunch and some air-conditioning before venturing out again.
Obviously, after traveling so often, decisions on what to do when it's disgustingly hot outside become easier and easier. You save all museums, stores, and everything else of that sort for the hottest part of the day. It's just common sense. Therefore, I headed off to the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute where I spent over two hours navigating through all of the information set up in ways that makes you feel as if you're in a life-sized dollhouse and you just want to pick everything up. There are homes, churches, restaurants, everything is recreated inside.
16th Street Church (not sure where my better picture ran off to)
I want to take one moment to show my fellow Californians a picture. I know I'm not the only one frustrated with parking meters and how they suck all the coins out of your wallet for a meager 30-minutes' worth of parking. PARKING. You're paying money to take up space. That's besides the point. I thought you would enjoy this picture:
Back to more important things...one night I decided to make a Mexican-ish feast. I'm pretty sure my hosts and their friend had high hopes for me, or a good feeling (or both!), because their friend decided not to go out of town and I felt like my poor mother who would always be cooking and her three bratty children kept picking food out of the pots. At least the guys were a bit more intelligent about it by telling me they wanted to make sure it was good. It was. Come on. If you grow up with a Mexican mum and can't cook then something went seriously wrong in your life.
Left to right: Jon, Sami, and Beau
Another interesting day was spent half downtown roaming through aisles of junk and trying to find the purpose of Princess Leia masks, four-foot lamps in the shape of pineapples, and clothes that I was a bit too afraid to touch...
Beau attempting to look cool but it was all a lie because...
...then he started trying on hats and, well, I don't think that needs any explanation.
The antique-y store.
I know I've been posting pictures of what each city looks like and having minor successes in recreating this journey but these next two pictures are as good of an attempt as I could make:
I then handed over the highly-difficult, grueling task of being in charge of the camera while I drove to Beau...
He hasn't been in charge of the camera since then.
I apologize for the random-ness of this entry but I almost feel as if all of these perplexing photos also fully explain my stay here. So, for your amusement, I'm going to continue with some more. Lucky you!
Jon with great emotion.
Beau maybe extra happy but we can't be too sure.
The view near the Birmingham Museum of Art...which I actually don't recommend but who was I kidding when I thought it would be worthwhile?
Beau and Jon in their natural state.
Random street art near Rojo where we went again because we were mentally stoned after the museum and couldn't decide on a restaurant.
Rojo.
Last night Jon and Beau had a show with some fire-breathing/swallowing belly dancers. And, no, I'm not kidding.
Their music is fantastic and makes me wonder how they can still be undiscovered. If they were located in SF, LA, or NYC I probably would be out of their social realm because they'd already be famous. I guess luckily for me I got to meet them here in Birmingham. I'll be sure to post links/mp3's when I find appropriate ones.
This photo is here because it is perfectly awkward and amusing so shut up and move on.
Beau and I trying to look like we actually enjoy each other's company. We pulled it off well.
Now for the flaming belly dancers! I can't think of what their name was or if they're flame-blowing or swallowing so we're going with "flaming belly dancers."
Now for the token band pictures!
Once I gather more of my thoughts about this place I'll be sure to post again. I haven't fully processed all of my emotions from the past week or so but I feel them coming so look out for another (much shorter, with less annoying photos) post very soon about more people telling me my trip really does need to be "all about love" and their interpretations of what that love is that have my mind running in circles. "Love for what?" is what has been the most interesting question I've been asking them so far. Of travel? Of moving inward? Of running to it or getting away from it?
Until then...I'm feelin' like a Southerner.
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