Fat Chance Belly Dance

Later that evening, once we felt like civilized human beings again, I accompanied Paige to a belly dance class in the Mission. As part of Paige’s world dance tour she wanted to study with Fat Chance Belly Dance who are the innovators of the improvisational American Tribal Style Belly Dance. It had been about three or four years since I had attended a belly dance class and had been wanting to return. Funny how opportunities pop up! And so we joined women of all shapes and sizes with exposed bellies, flowing skirts, and colorful adornments shimmy, snake, and undulate with only the music and slight non-verbal cues as our guides.

Radio Habana Social Club

Paige and I left feeling enlivened and hungry so we walked over to Dosa, an incredible South Indian restaurant I had eaten at on a previous visit. There was a long wait for a table so we explored the hip neighborhood in search of a cool bar. We found Radio Habana Social Club, a hole in the wall that was brimming with curiosities—for example, a flying shark with a baby’s head hanging from the fan. Like the café in Little Italy we went to early that morning, we found the regulars incredibly friendly and interested in making conversation.

Once back at the restaurant we ate and savored every bite of our food while discussing life and dance. Paige told me more about the joys and frustrations of working with Aboriginals in her homeland. I had been wanting to know more about Aboriginal culture and belief systems and I found someone who knew about it firsthand. She had even learned their language, been adopted in to the family system, and given a “skin name.” A skin name refers to one’s place within the kinship system. As I understand it, aside from one’s blood family, one is also considered a “mother,” or “cousin,” “father,” etc. So, for example, if I met anyone who was a “father” they would relate to me as a “father.” Talk about extended family!

We ended that night at a café and wine bar. We drank tea and entertained ourselves with the elaborate and odd sounding wine descriptions on the menu such as “a full nose of pear” (how unfortunate) and hints of “asphalt, meat, chocolate, and chalk.” When the waitress was asked about the “hint of petrol” in one wine she saw little humor in it. Were we that uncultured or was she that boring? Probably a little of both.

The "Painted Lady" Karen lives in

For the rest of the weekend I stayed with my friend Karen who I had met on the Green Tortoise trip two years ago. She lives in a Victorian house co-op with eight people nestled between Golden Gate Park and Alamo Square. Karen pulled the sliding doors closed and unfolded the couch bed and I had my own spacious Victorian room! I stalled getting out of bed so I could stare at the architectural details surrounding me.

A New York City native, she had moved to San Francisco within the last two years and was still navigating the Western ways. We came to the mutual conclusion that the “buzz” in the air was one of the following energies mixing: mental illness (so very many homeless people), drugs, creativity, and the timelessness of having minimal weather changes. She exclaimed that here “nobody cares!” as in you can do whatever you want and it will be accepted. At that point we looked at each other’s outfits and started cracking up. Because of the Bay climate one needs to dress in layers. The accumulated layers created odd results for both of our outfits. But hell, this was San Francisco, and the little girl in me who wanted to throw on striped tights with a checkered dress was free to do so if she pleased! The feeling of freedom was still present here.

That Saturday was the second day of the free Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park. Billionaire Warren Hellman started the festival in 2001, and is said to fund this enormous festival for years to come. Although I am not too familiar with the big names that performed in the bluegrass and blues genres, some other impressive acts in this festival were Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch, Lyle Lovett, Neko Case, Billy Bragg, Robyn Hitchcock, Aimee Mann, and Marianne Faithfull.

Me, Karen, and our new dog friends

We had the joy of seeing Gillian Welch and Emmylou Harris… for free! Although there may have been about 500,000 people at the festival, it’s as if we were at a picnic with friends. Anyone that we stood by or snuggled up next to would instantly strike up conversation. Our closest pals ended up being two dogs who chose to spend their time with us. The poodle provided endless entertainment due to it’s human appearance and personality. The other dog, a huge blue-eyed beauty, positioned himself on my lap as close as possible to my torso, leaving me no option but to just wrap my arms around him. We watched the show together in this way. Animals—such equal opportunity lovers!

But oh boy, when that sun went down and the fog rolled in, it was freezing! I, as the out of towner, wasn’t the only one unprepared for the cold. It seemed that it was an uncharacteristic chill. The city transit system wasn’t quite prepared to accommodate all the festival goers and so we waited for an hour seeking refuge in the laudromat. As we put our hands on the dryer windows to warm up, we looked at each other once more and laughed. I was wearing a blanket around my shoulders and dawning a pitiful look. We no longer looked bohemian but closer to homeless. When an empty bus finally came the crowd that had accumulated at the bus stop gave a loud “hoorah!”

The next morning I met up with Mark and Meri again, as well as Andy and Sara, two Pittsburgh ex-pats. We ate breakfast in Berkeley and wandered around for a bit. Next we went for a sake tasting at the Takara Sake factory in Oakland. I have generally not been very fond of sakes, either tasting too alcoholic or too sweet. I found several that I really liked: an unfiltered variety that had a similarity to rice milk, and a fruit sake that basically tasted like fresh juice.

Since I was interested in towns in the area, we decided to see a movie in Alameda. Alameda feels like its in a bit of a time warp and definitely does not feel like it is right next door to a happening city. This was it’s charm. The theater was just as quirky with its 1930’s deco architecture.

My final day in San Francisco was spent lounging and catching up with Karen. Karen is a singer, songwriter, piano, and guitar player with a stunning voice. We sat on her balcony as she played me her songs. I was so incredibly moved. To have someone sit in front of you and sing to you with that much soul and beauty is quite profound. I really hope Karen’s music gets heard. It deserves to.

That night I got back on ye ol Amtrak and headed North. As I drifted to sleep I realized that I missed San Francisco already.

Next up: Portland.

The first night on the bus I chatted with some of my fellow passengers, hailing from the U.K., Germany, The Czech Republic, Australia, the U.S., Brazil, and Spain. That night the self-proclaimed “miracle” was performed where the bus converted into a sleeper for up to 36 passengers, and we snuggled up next to our new friends (not much choice in the matter with this close proximity) and went to sleep as the bus drove through the night to Yosemite. I was quite used to this having done a two-week Green Tortoise trip two years ago.

The mobile kitchen was set up the next morning at Yosemite and we prepared ourselves some coffee, fruit, and bagels. It was overcast and cool, and just as we prepared to start our hike, a slight drizzle began. It didn’t last long and we set off to enter the mighty peaks of Yosemite. The weather ended up being perfect for hiking—cool and without oppressive sun. The mighty peak of El Capitan was beckoning us.

We approached the first major waterfall, Vernal Fall, and silently took in its majesty. The falls were running really small this time of year but this did not detract from its beauty. Deborah started laughing as if she had remembered some hilarious joke. “It’s just so beautiful,” she says. Without hesitation, Paige says, “I’m going down there.” We get off the trail and follow right behind her, and now it felt like the real adventure was beginning. I felt my body thank me as I climbed down the rocks. My legs love to activate and feel the exertion of pushing and pulling on the earth. The monkey in me said “yes!” It had been too long. We got so close that we felt the mist of the water hitting our faces. We were lulled by the crashing of the water on the rocks. Deborah continued with her bursts of laughter which subsequently incited giggles in me and Paige. Paige decided that we should rename this fall to “Big Laugh Falls.”

As we continued to hike our way up to the taller falls, our hiking crew trickled off until it was just Paige and I that wanted to attempt the climb to Nevada Falls with the allotted time given. The further we went the further we realized we were from the top of the fall. The hike became more and more challenging. We had come this far so we had to make it all the way up. When we finally made it it was well worth the effort. The view at 594 ft was spectacular. Unfortunately we had less time to get back to the bus than we needed so we descended soon after we had arrived.

The bus would leave us if we were late. I knew this because I had almost been left in the Grand Canyon on the last trip. Paige and I got in the zone and hiked quietly and vigorously at full speed until we made it back down to the shuttle bus. Once the bus finally came, we got on it and it ever so slowly made it’s way to our meeting spot. The Chicago in me started coming out as I burnt holes into the back of the driver’s head who was ever so casually fixing her hair and chatting with each person as they got on the bus. I had to breathe and remind myself that I was on vacation. Even if we got left behind, I would be in one of the most beautiful places on earth. In the end, the extra nice Green Tortoise bus drivers did wait and extra 10 minutes, and opened it’s door for us as we ran to catch it.

That night we made pesto pasta and set up camp for the night. No way was I sleeping outside—it was freezing! I would be sleeping on the bus, which albeit was not a whole heck of a lot warmer.

The second day the bus took us to beautifully bizarre tufa towers at Mono lake. Wikipedia describes tufa as “a terrestrial sedimentary rock, formed by the precipitation of carbonate minerals from ambient temperature water bodies.” The young British clan decided to “swim” in this super saline (three times as salty as the ocean) and freezing water and entertained the rest of us as we watched them squeal. The cold was enough to deter me but the flies and brine shrimp surrounding the area made it even more unappealing. The folks that went in the water reported it to be “slimy,” and it turns out this is probably due to the high alkalinity of the water which supposedly behaves a lot like soapy water. I had no problem letting the others experiment as I sat in the sun and ate my packed lunch.

Next we drove to June Lake, a sparkling lake in the Sierras with a sandy beach. This is my ideal landscape—lake, mountains, and pines—perfection. It’s beauty lured me to dawn my bathing suit regardless of the knowledge that it would be bitter cold. I had not put my bathing suit on once this summer and hell, if I was going to do it anywhere it was going to be in this idyllic landscape. I walked in, forced myself to immerse myself up to my shoulders and then ran out. It was painful, but I’m glad I did it. I dried off in the sun and tried my hardest to take in the environment. I would be here for such a short time and I wanted to make sure I was present for every moment of it.

Following this the bus took us to Obsidian Dome in Mammoth Lakes. Surely this would be the name of my new all girl metal band, and it’s corresponding album name. The actual site did not rock any less than it’s name promised. Walking amongst this mile-long mound of volcanic black glass felt akin to walking on Mars. Walking over the obsidian, the material used by Native Americans for spearheads, made a very satisfying crunching sound. In order to really feel the essence of a place I like to experience it alone. I also wanted to pretend I really was walking on another planet, so a wandered off alone until I could no longer see anyone. After spending a while in this rocky wonderland I figured I better find my way back to the bus for it would soon be leaving. I encountered several earthy looking guys sitting on top of a large mound and we got to chatting. They told me they were from “here” and I said “where is here?” realizing that I really had no idea what part of the earth I was on at this point. “Mammoth Lakes” they responded and laughed. I said goodbye because I really needed to find my crew at this point. As I casually made my way back I realized that it all looked the same and perhaps I had been walking in circles, or worse, walking further away from the entrance. I started to panic and at this point actually started running. My Tortoids were nowhere to be found! Had they left with out me? Eventually I did find them, and all was well. Another close call.

That night we made tacos for dinner and prepared the final campfire to our short little trip. It turns out that our driver Bill, was a fabulous musician, playing the guitar, singing, and playing the harmonica without the use of his hands (this was quite something to watch). We sang along, made smores, and drank till we were merry.

The final day of the Green Tortoise Yosemite trip took us to Tuolumne Meadows in the Sierras. We had several options for the area and a bunch of us chose the hike up to Lembert Dome. The hiking and the partying from the previous day had us moving quite slow on this steep hike (about 12% average grade) with a high altitude. I found myself a quality hiking stick to assist. Once we reached the granite dome there were already breathtaking panoramic views of Yosemite’s high country. The base of the dome was

Someone else's photo used to show the climb at Lembert Dome

wide open and sloping, making one feel a bit exposed and unstable. Not for one with a fear of heights. I started climbing the actual dome which offered nothing to hold on to. The way up was relatively easy but I made the mistake of looking down and anticipating that the climb down would offer even less support. I experienced vertigo so I decided that the climb was not for me today unfortunately and returned to the flat area of the dome. I ate lunch amongst the splendid view of the Sierras. It was cool, sunny, and spectacular.

Our final destination in the mighty land of Yosemite was Tuolumne Grove to see some giant sequoias. Deborah told me that when she was little she had a poster of a giant sequoia and she dreamed from that moment on that she would see some in person one day. We spent the day hugging, climbing through, and dancing through these giant wonders. This was one of my dreams–to dance in a natural space—combining two of my great loves. We were so in love with this forest that yes, again we were late for the bus.

We made our final dinner that night and then went to a saloon style karaoke bar. Before we arrived the only clear foreigners were a young Spanish couple that were highly committed to and entertained by their own performances. I got up the nerve to put my slip in and before I knew it found myself on stage singing Mary J. Blige’s “Sweet Thang” with Scottish Michael as my backup man-ho. Our chemistry must have made for quite a show because we received high accolades from the crowd. The Spanish girl came up and asked me where I was from and enthusiastically told me that they were the biggest fans of my hilarious performance. In addition, the bartender sat next to me and said that the man at the bar in a black jacket and glasses wanted to buy me a drink for my performance. Well, maybe I should move to California if I’m going to be so popular. This got the rest of the group going and we all laughed to tears at the various performances including the dry, British-accented version of “Baby Got Back,” the Czechoslovakian’s manic dancing, among other hilarities. Michael became the M.C. and his true comedian came out. We quickly thinned the place out, and this made us even more pleased with ourselves. Little did I know that this would end up being one of the most entertaining nights of the entire trip.

We drove over night back to San Fran and went our separate ways in the wee early morning. Emails were traded, and hugs were given, very well knowing that only a small few of us may ever cross paths again.

My first request was to go to Japantown, one of my favorite things to do in San Fran. If I lived here I would buy all of my house supplies at the Japanese dollar store! One place that was new since my last time here was a modern Tokyo style “mall” called New People. The boutiques included Lolita clothing, tabi shoes, $200 hamburger rings, and all things “kawaii” (cute). Only in Japan…or…only in Japantown, San Francisco.

In Japan (town)

High end burger jewelry

We spent the rest of the day exploring some cool neighborhoods like the Richmond and the Mission, mosing into resale stores, boutiques, and cafes. I mentioned that I wanted to explore more of the East Bay so my tour guides took me to the Rockridge neighborhood in Oakland (a nice part of Oakland!) and the city of Piedmont. I really liked the vibe of these areas which had a “town” feel but were within ½ train ride to the city. Being that I want to get away from city life but still have access to it, these areas really appealed to me. Hmm, I thought, I could definitely live here.

That night I went to a milonga (tango dance event) in Oakland at The Beat. I had been told that San Francisco had a great scene with great dancers so I was feeling intimidated before I even began. Especially since I was not at my best in Albuquerque. I decided to wear practice sneakers instead of heels so I could feel extra stable. I ended up dancing quite to my liking, and was asked to dance so much that I barely got a chance to breathe! A nice, warm, friendly welcome—or should I say embrace—from the SF Bay Area tango community.

The next day was we ate another awesome brunch (Mark and Meri took me to many,

Over the Bay

many delicious restaurants) and explored Berkeley and Berkley Hills by car. I ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the beautiful million dollar homes, the trees, and the gorgeous view of the Bay. I fell even more in love with the wonders of this area.

In preparation for my Green Tortoise trip I spent that night at the Green Tortoise hostel. After having spent time staying with friends, finding myself in the top bunk of a hostel room with 5 other strangers was disorienting. Music blasted from the neighboring bars and strip clubs and I thought to myself, I’m too old for this. I put in my earplugs and went to sleep.

Alas, hostels offer the unique opportunity to meet some interesting international travelers. The next morning I ate breakfast in the communal dining room and met a German girl who was biking her way around the U.S. on her own. This was one of the many bike tours she had done around the world. I love meeting adventurous women like this. I like knowing that women do this kind of stuff. It opens my mind to what’s possible.

Japanese Tea Garden

After breakfast I set off to explore Golden Gate Park. It was cold and overcast and that old bay fog made it cold as usual. But that didn’t make it any less beautiful. Eventually the sun graced me with its presence, making the park glow even brighter. This is how I like my parks: magnificent.  I hung out in the beautiful Japanese Tea Garden for a while, writing in my journal as I sipped my tea and ate a Japanese desert.

On my way back to the hostel I walked through the legendary bohemian district of the Haight-Ashbury and found various clothing treasures at some resale shops. Yes, I would now have to carry gold heels in my bag to Yosemite, but these are the sacrifices we make for the sake of fashion.

Next up: Yosemite National Park.

They went off to work and my friend Liz who is in L.A. to pursue the acting thing came and picked me up. She showed up in her Mustang convertible with her blonde hair in pigtails, blasting west coast rap…and I knew she was going to show me a true L.A. experience. After eating at a pupuseria, we got back in the car and made our way to Venice beach. Liz got into a heated argument with her GPS as it turned us around and around in circles. We finally made it to our destination and Liz excitedly took me to get a Brazilian shake. Since I never got to visit her in Brazil, this was her attempt to recreate the experience. She spoke Portuguese with the beautiful Brazilian girl at the counter and convinced her to dance forró for me. After thoroughly stuffing ourselves we went off to the beach. As we walked on the sand we lamented over love and watched the skaters and surfers do their thing.

That night Margo and Sandra had an impromptu BBQ with some friends and they whipped up some of their Mexican specialties.

The next morning I attempted to find a local coffee shop on my own in their winding, hilly neighborhood. My directions were “zig zag down the hill and you’ll find it.”  That part I did OK. But the way back was another story. It was an unusually hot day in L.A. and the sun was blazing. I began my ascent through the winding hills assuming I could find my way back. 20 minutes later, holding my hot coffee in my hand, sweat pouring down my chest, calves hurting, and breathing heavily, I finally admitted that I was lost. I honestly had flashbacks of hiking in the Grand Canyon. Realizing that my phone was dead I asked a lady tending to her yard for help and eventually made my way home.

It was hot and disorienting, but in the end I survived Los Angeles. Liz told me that she hasn’t quite figured this place out and I agree. I don’t quite get L.A. I have a pretty good sense that it is just not my style. I’m always willing to give it a chance. But at that moment, I was pretty happy to be heading North.

New Mexican Sopaipillas and Honey
New Mexican sopaipillas are made from a pressed dough, like a tortilla but are deep fried like a doughnut, causing the dough to puff and crisp. Thought to have originated in Albuquerque, sopaipillas are served in nearly every New Mexican-style restaurant along with meals. It is common in New Mexican cuisine to fill a side sopaipilla with a bit of honey. The honey is supposedly used to cut the spice in the food. This is what I found most interesting. Instead of having a bottle of salsa on each table there was a bottle of honey. I did sneak a taste of the sopaipillas (and they did taste like doughnuts) but I also was told to try a putting honey on the tortilla chips as a replacement. Greta has a new favorite snack.

Pupusas from El Salvador (eaten in LA)
A thick, hand-made corn biscuit-like flat bread that is usually stuffed with cheese or meat. The ones we had were made from rice and were stuffed with refried beans and cooked vegetables. This wheat free girl said “Mmmmmm!”

Açaí Shake (eaten in LA)

Liz gets so excited about the shake that she dances forró with the pretty Brazilian girl at the counter.

Surely you’ve heard of this power berry–it’s all the rage. Liz who now lives in LA and lived in Brazil for 5 years, wanted to introduce me to this authentic shake that she claims nixed her ice cream habit. The shake consists of açaí and banana blended into a pudding like texture and topped with crunchy granola. WOW and wow. Super healthy and delish.

Burmese Cuisine (eaten In San Fran)
Take pretty much all of my favorite cuisines and blend them into one and you get Burmese food. You are just going to have to look at the menu.

What shall I try next?

The next day I rented car and drove to Bandelier National Monument via the Jemez Mountain Trail. This drive took me though a variety of pueblos, reservations, Spanish and Indian ruins, the Coronado and Jemez State Monuments, Los Alamos, Santa Fe, and views of the Santa Fe National Forest. I passed breathtaking red rock mountains and spent half the day regretting not getting out of my car to spend a little time in them and snap a few photos. There is something about that rusty red earth that is so magical. Once I was closer to Bandelier I passed green valleys with horse ranches that were a beautiful stark contrast to the dry desert landscape.

I arrived at Bandelier and was greeted shortly after by a tarantula (the second I have met in my life). The park ranger told me that it’s mating season and this male was off to find himself a woman. This is the final hurrah for this old guy– he will pass away after this season whether he mates or not. If he finds his woman, well good for him! Except of course that he might make a lovely meal for her after they have mated (and by make I do not mean cook her a fine meal).

I hiked the forested Main Loop Trail and climbed the many ladders that led into the cavates (small human-carved alcoves). I was generally in close proximity to people but at times when I wasn’t I did have a small fear of encountering a black bear or a mountain lion (which reside in the park). Perhaps unlikely, but hey, you can’t be too careful.

That night I went tango dancing at Kelly’s Pub in Albuquerque. It was a nice scene with friendly folks and good dancers. I danced most of the night but unfortunately I was playing catch up with myself and stumbling over my own feet. Any bad dances I had that night I take responsibility for (although they they say it’s always the leaders’ fault).

Through a contact of a contact of a contact, I met Randi, who was nice enough to house me in her big beautiful home on the outskirts of Albuquerque.
The next morning I returned the car and took the commuter rail to Santa Fe. I checked in the Santa Fe International Hostel of which I had been going back and forth on as an option. It received many mixed reviews on the internet, many extremely negative, but I took a chance, hoping that it was merely that these folks weren’t accustomed to hostel life. My experience turned out being quite lovely and I would absolutely return again. There was a large kitchen completely stocked with food for the guests to eat. It was required of all guests to complete one small chore in the morning. I chose to take out the kitchen trash and enjoyed the spirit of cooperation. I only had to share the large bunk bed dorm room and private bathroom with one other female from Japan. For $18 I got a room and free food. Not bad at all, eh? I met some cool people and had some great conversations about life, travel, and dance.

After checking in I spent the day wandering around Santa Fe, feeling like a charmed person in a charmed place (see other post). Next time I return I will spend way more time getting to know this enchanted town.

Many folks of all ages and backgrounds struck up conversation with me in Santa Fe during my various transits. One guy, a hip-hop street poet from LA, told me if that if I come live in Santa Fe I will grow like I’ve never imagined. “In cities there is so much confusion. Out here, it’s only you and God.”

I’ll see you again, New Mexico. Ciao for now.

I get these fancy ideas in my head sometimes and this past year I got the idea that I absolutely needed to move to Santa Fe. Even though I had never been there and knew relatively nothing about it. As I arrived in New Mexico I started fearing that the reality of Santa Fe would end up dissapointing me and then what else would I have to fantasize about? Well they told me I would love Santa Fe. And they were right, I LOVE Santa Fe. I kept on thinking to myself as I walked around “are you  kidding me?” The mountains, the beautiful little houses, and…hello, shopping! I expected to be turned off by an overly Southwestern aesthetic–but on the contrary I found it to be incredibly sophisticated, stylish, textural, and rustic. It was so RIGHT. I can assure you that if I could find a way to live here I would. Jake at the hostel told me that Santa Fe is not the real world. Isn’t the real world a little overated?

9/19/09

I made it. 26 hours on the train. It was lovely. Here are some musings from this leg of the train journey.

Slow Train From Mid To West

blue lollipop swirl sky / fluttering green corn field stripes / roads leading to…somewhere / yellow sparks in a sea of green / surprising hills / amish girl eating cheetos / the lure of simplicity / oh train, slow and steady / romance me / black cow / blue tin house / stand in the field and belt a tune / hands grazing the feathery fields / checkerboard cow field / hazy twilight / glued to the seat / white horses, can i touch you? / no words / no bulletins / sunset beam reflecting on the lake / pink emerges / industrial bridge / black pudding lake / stowed accordion / ALL ABOARD!

I sat with Clyde, and airforce retiree, who bought me my $12 breakfast. We sipped coffee and talked about our lives. His wife passed away six months ago and he was trying to stay busy. He told me of all the interesting characters he’s met during his years riding the train. He pointed out the “cay-otes” on the Colorado plain.

I am here

fried barren grassland / nothing but open space / space and more space / rickety houses ravaged by natural forces / be still and know / strange loner bush trees, i like your style / telephone lines keep us connected / way out here / we are somewhere / clydesdales…”you don’t see dem too ofen” / fat cow runs / green puff hills / my new friend clyde says i missed the antelopes / follow my heart / that knows the truth / the train / it was meant to be / i am filled with peace and joy on this ride / with this window / my fellow passengers / the camera can’t catch this / i am here

I slept very comfortably last night being fortunate enough to have the window seat. There is ample room to recline and stretch out. My Amish seat mate, on the other hand, seemed to struggle all night. I was woken up several times as she accidentally tried to wrap her leg over mine. She would apologize in a start and try to squeeze back into her space. Poor thing must have been mortified.

Glorieta

red earth / green ponderosa pine/ cracked rocks / shadow mountain / textural wonder / orange tree rebellion / purple and yellow petals scattered / tell me god is not an artist / i hope i would never stop admiring his work