Streetcars and Green Fairies

Last Wednesday, Marc and I had an evening in Old Hollywood. The LA Conservancy has a series called Last Remaining Seats where they screen movies in the lush movie palaces of yesteryear. A friend of his had invited him along to see “A Streetcar Named Desire” at the LA Theatre. Somehow, they ended up with an extra ticket, and I got myself invited at the last moment.

I’d been meaning to check out a film through Last Remaining Seats for a long time. Additionally, despite having acted in a production of the play in college – I had one line, “Flores, flores para los muertos” – and in spite of a healthy appreciation of Marlon Brando’s physical attractions as a young man, I had never seen the film in it’s entirety. The film is still powerful, albeit not exactly a pick-me-up, and neither Mr. Brando’s looks nor his performance disappointed. Watching the film in such a spectacular setting definitely added to the experience.

After the film, Marc and parted way with his friends Candace and Sherri and headed back over to our new favorite bar, The Edison. We went to the Edsion for the first time the previous Thursday with Heather and Johanna. On this first visit, Marc got burned by the dress code policy. I thought we’d done our homework – all I found online was “no athletic attire.” It turns out that a collared shirt is also required for men. Marc’s very nice sweater was therefore, unacceptable.

Not to be easily done-in – especially since we were supposed to be meeting Heather inside very soon – we asked the bouncer if he had any suggestions as to where we could quickly purchase another shirt. He directed us to the tobacco shop around the corner.
That’s right, the tobacco shop around the corner.

The folks running this shop were very sweet and helpful, but let me tell you, they’re definitely familiar with the problems caused by the Edison’s dress code. They are stocked and ready for just such an occasion. One of the most heartbreaking things about having my camera stolen is that it still housed a series of pictures of Marc modeling his fashion finds at the tobacco shop. We met another guy in the shop who had also been caught by the dress code technicalities buying a pair of shoes for himself and a shirt for his friend. So the shopkeepers are definitely profiting from the Edison’s shirt and shoe requirements. Can you blame them though? They saw a problem, and now provide the goods to correct the problem. Capitalism at work. End of tangent.

Despite the hoops we had to jump through to finally get into the place, we fell in love pretty much as soon as we arrived. I can definitely understand the hype on the place, and am now a believer as well. (Although I’d never dare to go on a weekend – I bet it’s insanely crowded)

I was expecting a small lounge with a speak-easy vibe. What we found was a much bigger operation – in every sense. A staircase leads you down into a cavernous, gothic 1930’s netherworld with two bars, various different nooks and enclaves, and burlesque dancers strutting around the band on stage. Exposed beams, pipes, and other antique architectural and mechanical elements hint at the building’s history. Old school black and white cartoons are projected onto a large brick wall, serving to pretty much keep Marc permanently hypnotized. On the whole, it's kind of like going for drinks at the Hotel from Disney's Twilight Zone Tower of Terror.

The cocktails are a little on the expensive side, but they are good and done well. At the point I was debating whether I wanted to spend another $13 on a cocktail, a beautiful, sparkly Green Fairy came by and offered me a flask of absinthe for a more reasonable $8 in an adorable little glass flask. I’m a sucker for a Green Fairy. It’s true. The lore, the ritual, the historical connection to artists, writers and poets – send a girl in a Green Fairy costume my way, and I’m pretty sure to buy the absinthe. The Green Fairy was named Danielle, and very sweet – as a group, we bought lots of drinks from her. (I think this definitely helped Johanna in her endeavors to get Marc out on the dance floor. He initially looked like a boy at his first junior high dance in his uncertainty as to what do with the girl in front of him, but she did succeed in getting him to dance for quite a while.) The Green Fairy also told us all about how on Wednesday nights acrobats perform all around the bar.


How could we resist? So sure enough, after “Streetcar” we made our way back and it was even better. In addition the Burlesque dancers a man in gothic make-up and a top hat would weave his in and out of the crowd on stilts; a buxom aerial artist wound herself around a tissue hammock suspended from the ceiling; and girls on swings danced on the walls – one twirling a red umbrella. On this particular evening, even the bar tenders got in on the action and jumped up on the bar and started dancing. Marc and I took this all in from our firmly established spot at the bar while simultaneously people watching and criticizing the antics of the other bar patrons, as we stuffed our faces with grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

Personal Surf Lore

I grew up with a lot of surf lore passed down from my Dad. Tony surfed up and down the coast of California when he lived in Los Angeles as a teenager. While the Beach Boys sang about surfing without going near the water, he was actually out there catching waves. At 18, he moved back to Venezuela and brought surfing with him. Skinny and the youngest of his crew, they nicknamed him “the Larva.” The Encyclopedia of Surfing credits him with helping “to get things started near Caracas.” He even owned and ran a surf shop there—that’s where he met my mom.

I ended up in Los Angeles 30 or so years after my father left, and I’ve always wanted to learn to surf. I love the ocean—its power and vastness makes me feel calm. I get a sense of peach from feeling how much bigger than me it is. And riding a wave looks like a rush!

I told myself I’d learn by the time I hit 30, and I’m turning 29 this year. I’ve wanted to take lessons for years, but funds have been an issue. However, my friend SB found a place that fits into my budget. It’s in Huntington Beach, but it fits into my budget. There is also the fact that I’m going to Sydney in fall. Half a year of summer! It seems clear that this is the time.

So for the past couple of weekends I’ve been making the 45 min drive to Huntington Beach with SB and her bf Stewart to take lessons. Of course, it’s hard. Even though I workout like a madwoman, I have no natural athletic ability . . . at all. Any accomplishments I’ve had in this arena have been hard-fought. I had no illusions this would be any different. The ocean has no problem reassuring me that my assumptions were correct – she throws a couple of punches and beats me around a little every time to make her point. It’s cool. I don’t mind being roughed up a bit.

Both days I’ve been out have been choppy. Last Saturday in particular – it was misty, cold, and mean. I hate the cold! I grew up with the Atlantic as my ocean. The Pacific seems frigid to me on a “warm” day. But go figure, I’m getting used to it. This past chilly weekend, the instructors claimed that the water would be warmer than the cold air. I thought they were full of shit. It turns out they were right. And apparently, I can take it. I haven’t managed to stand all the way yet, but each time I get a little closer. I’m pretty much getting ½ to ¾ of the way up. If I could just manage to get my front leg up on the pop-up a little quicker I’d be pretty much there. But even at ½ to ¾ of the way there, it is in fact a rush.

When I’m out there, I can’t help thinking of my dad. I can imagine him standing on the beach, yelling at me. “Mi viiiiiidita, ten cuido! Be careful!” You see, by the time I came along, my dad was no longer surfing. One thing lead to another and Tony settled down, got a “real” job and had a couple of kids. Somehow, this one time worshipper of the sea and sun now hides from it like the plague. I remember the last family trip to the beach. After bathing himself in SPF 1000 and wrapping himself head to toe with clothes, blankets, and towels, he found a shady spot and settled down uneasily. I may have grown up with the mythology of surfing, but Tony had become a workaholic.

Now you could say Tony sold out to the man and went corporate. You could say that, but the truth is that Tony is the epitome of the self-made man. He’s got the American Dream written all over him – although in this case, the American Dream jumps back and forth between both of the American Continents. He brought himself up from nothing through hard work, determination and integrity. My dad changed so that my brother and I could have the lives we have.

I think it’s appropriate that I finally took up surfing for the first time around father’s day. It’s a little personal celebration all of my own -- a little chance to connect in some way with his history and who he was, and to appreciate the person he is now. Each time I’ve been out I feel like I’m getting a little closer to making the mythology I’ve been given a little closer to real for myself.

It’s possible that the story isn’t over just yet. Tony met up with his old surfing buddies not too long ago and claimed that he was getting the itch to take it up again. Maybe the old surfer will actually take up his board again. And maybe I’ll actually be able to get all the way up someday. Maybe there is still time to catch a couple of waves together.

Then again, maybe passing on the mythology is enough to pass on the legacy. Either way, he’s an inspiration.

It’s a week late, but Happy Father’s Day. Thanks for everything Papi!

(My Dad's surf crew then - he's the skinny one on the far right.)

(My Dad's surf crew now - he's center right with the Tommy Bahama shirt)

Apparently, life continues without an iPhone

Last weekend was lovely . . . mostly. Our friends Max and Nicole were staying with us from out of town. We went out for drinks with a few other friends on Friday night. We had a very nice lunch on Saturday and enjoyed coffee in the afternoon. In the evening, they went to a Bat Mitzvah and G and I went to celebrate the upcoming wedding of some of his B-school friends. I wish I had pics to show of these fun times.

Unfortunately, while out on Saturday night some punk-ass jerk decided that my adorable, new, black clutch with tiny hardware details and rhinestone clasp would match his outfit better then mine. Along with it went my wallet, which was an early gift from G. He picked it up for me in Vienna when he traveled through Europe after college with his parents. The purse itself was a recent gift from my mom. My camera went bye-bye as well. It too had been a gift – this time from my mother-in-law. It also really hurt since there were all of those pics still on it that I had not downloaded yet. And yes of course, my iPhone. I was rendered completely disconnected from the world.

Of course, initially I was and freaked out. I’m right smack in the middle of my 2-year contract, so there was very little in the way of subsidies coming my way to help me get a new phone, and I’m just not in the place to drop several hundred bucks right now. Then, of course, knowing someone else is out there with my license is scary. The whole feeling of lack of control that being robbed whacks you with is also incredibly unsettling.

I should have been holding the purse, obviously. I had set it down next to me on the counter next to me to order a drink and talk with some friends for a moment. We were at a bar on the 3rd Street Promenade, not exactly a sketchy part of town. Nonetheless, I turned around for a couple of minutes, and *poof* some schmuck had whisked it away.

The next day, though, we took a nice walk by the beach with M&N. It was a beautiful day, the ocean looked so vast and beautiful, and we had good friends with us. Definitely helps put things back in perspective. There was no tragedy here, after all. The items had emotional value, but at the end of the day it was just stuff.

Plus, it could have been a lot worse. I had emptied a bunch of things out of the purse in the car before we got out, so there’s a bunch of things that could have been taken that weren’t. I noticed that the purse was missing pretty quickly, so we were able to file a police report and cancel the cards right away. All the cards had already been flagged for suspicious activity, so Schmucko wasn’t able to get all that much $$$ anyways. There had been no cash in purse so :-P. The info on my license needed to be updated anyhow. Even the iPhone situation looks like it’s going to work out. Marc is about to get the 3G s, so I can buy his old one for a lot less than I thought I’d have to pay. It turns out that you can even have the balance of your Starbucks card refunded-- as long as it’s been registered – so even my coffee money will be sent back to me.

I admit that it also gives me solace that my iPhone was actually cracked. When I first got the phone it flew out of my hand as I got out of the elevator and plummeted 3 stories down into the courtyard. The fact it had survived this fall felt like badge on honor to me, but means it’s less valuable were it to be resold. My camera was a few years old, so that to is somewhat devalued. Schmucko ended up getting some free drinks at a pub, little bit of cash at the atm, a cracked phone, an aging camera, and a nice purse to give his girlfriend or sister. (Or to wear herself if she's a girl)

So, Schmucko, hope you enjoyed the drinks, my pictures, and my purse. You succeeded in being a pain in my ass. But guess what? My life is still great, and Karma is a bitch.

(Since I have no pics from their visit last weekend, this is one of G, M&N during our trip to SF last Thanksgiving. It was nice to have them all around to keep me out of my head. It definitely helped me focus on the positive -- particularly all the wonderful people in my life.)

Post Script. Yesterday our DVR crapped out. There was a power outage and it just did not resuscitate. All of my most “needed” electronic items are gone or out of commission. Good to know that the world goes on.

Lost Moon Radio

Last Wed, Jesse and I caught the second installment of Lost Moon Radio, a sketch comedy show starring my friends Matt, Dylan, and Frank. I have to say it's so nice to have talented friends. It cuts out so much of the potential awkwardness that occurs when you are forced to witness the unsuccessful creative endeavors of people you care about. They were really funny. Their comedy hit a nice balance between the absurd and accessibility. It also contained the best damn rap arguing both sides of the chicken and the egg controversy that I've ever heard.

That less-than daring young woman on the flying trapeze.

Somehow, I have found myself once again standing on the edge of a rickety platform, staring down at the ground far below, waiting to fall.

It’s starting to seem like a recurring nightmare, isn’t it? Except of course, that once again, I’ve put myself in this situation.

My friend Alyson has been taking various types of acrobatics classes at Hollywood Aerial Arts for a while now. She has primarily been working on hoop and tissue – in which she beautifully spins herself around while hanging from a hoop, or weaves herself in and around long tissuey curtains suspended far above the ground at angles that seem impossible. It’s quite beautiful.

Wanting to join in her enthrusiasm, she invited a group of friends to join her at a trapeze class. After the success of my zip-lining expedition, I was eager to continue to challenge my fear of heights and I accepted the invitation. Jesse, Katy, and Alyson’s friend Tiffany also decided to participate. Ironically, Alyson is injured on the day of our trapeze class.

(Yeah, that's right. These are all of Alyson injured.)

During the course of the class, the instructors guide you through learning proper form, then they teach you a simple turning dismount. If you’re doing well, by the end of one class you might go on to learn some tricks while swinging on the bar. You might even get as far as releasing yourself from the bar and swinging yourself through the air so that George (one of the instructors) can catch you. Pretty impressive for a couple hour’s work. . . if you can get that far.

Katy and Tiffany have prior gymnastics training, and learned pretty quickly. They picked up the movements as if they were no big deal at all. I’m sure it was more difficult for them than I am making it sound, but from my vantage point they looked amazingly graceful and strong while swinging in the air and flipping themselves around the bar.

Tiffany actually managed a catch, and Katy was nearly there.

Jesse didn’t get quite that far along, however, he rallied amazingly well and managed the flipping dismount quite admirably.

I was a whole other story. Just managing to get off the platform was an ordeal. Surprisingly, climbing up the interminable ladder was not all that bad. Just concentrate on the next wrung of the ladder and don’t look down. Stay focused and it’s manageable. Once you’re swinging through the air . . . well, that’s just fun. Like so many things, the hardest parts were the start, and to a lesser degree, the end.

For some reason, I experience the greatest disconnect between what I know to be rationally true in my brain and what’s going on in my body when I’m dealing with heights. G and I went to the CN Tower in Toronto a couple of years back. One of their attractions is the glass floor, which you can walk on and see the earth far below you. It isn’t even completely glass. It’s more like large glass tiles suspended in a matrix of steel rods. It looks very sturdy. You can look at it and plainly see that there is no possible way that you can fall through it. More over, it was a REALLY cloudy day. It pretty much just looked like you were stepping onto a white tile floor. Nonetheless, when I would even begin to slide my feet onto the glass tile, I’d immediately feel the vertigo-induced fallout in my stomach. I’d tiptoe onto the glass, then jump back shrieking. Then I’d run back and try it again. Yeah, I was suddenly 5 again.

Now imagine me standing on a narrow platform, toes hanging over the edge – no glass floor this time-- and being expected to lean far out in from to reach a bar that seemed eternally far from the edge. Sure, I know the spotters are there holding onto the harness around my waist so that I can’t fall until I’m ready to jump. Sure, my brain is telling me that even if I were to fall, I’m harnessed, and even then there is a net below to catch me. Sure, I know the bar isn’t really all that far out there. Just take a deep breath, reach out and take it. Somehow, there was NOTHING that could convince my right arm that any of this is true.

What followed was a similar argument with each of my limbs. Somehow I managed to get my right hand around the bar; now the left had to get there too. My left arm, desperately clutching to the side platform bar, refused to trust that right hand really had the situation under control.

“Stop shaking your leg,” I hear one the spotters tell me. I look down and see that my leg is in fact trembling violently. “I would if I could,” is my response. After what seems like an eternal struggle, both of my hands are on the bar.

Now all I have to do is jump. Just jump! Seems so simple. I bend my knees into a little squat, as instructed, and I hop . . . or so I thought. If you watch the YouTube video, you’ll see me doing what looks like a little booty dance. At this point, my brain swears I’m jumping! But somehow I’m going nowhere.

I do eventually manage to get off the platform, and miraculously my hands hold their grip, and for a few moments I’m flying through the air. This part is deliciously exhilarating. I mean, who doesn’t wish they could fly?

From below, the instructor, Ray, calls out commands that I try to follow. It takes a lot of concentration for me to hear him at all; asking my body to do what he’s saying takes even more concentration. Swinging your legs up and then back requires a good amount of core strength – a little more than I currently have. However, I could see that the real trick here is to just react to the commands being called out; to not think. This clarity was something I just could not manage that day, so swinging is as far as I got.

Why bother? Why put myself in this situation. I really don’t like being limited in this way. I try to fight against it. I used have a minor paranoia of driving on the freeways in LA. Literally. I once had an anxiety attack because G was going to force me to take the wheel on a drive to the OC. I eventually got over that paranoia through repeated exposure. I figure I can get over this too. I was really giddy to try this actually. I was a little surprised at how much the vertigo affected me that day– I thought I was little closer to having it under control. Apparently, it’s going to be a slightly longer battle than I expected.

Of course each jump got a little easier. Each person was given 5 turns during the class time. I wish I could say I took all five turns, but I was able to manage 3. The mental exertion got to me in the end, but it was getting easier. And I really appreciate that the instructors were nice enough not to give me a super hard time or force me into more than I wanted to do. Because of that I’d be willing to go back another day and give it another shot.

Ray waxed philosophic quite a bit about how the trapeze is such a clear metaphor for life, and I totally see that. Maybe I’m not all the way there yet, but some days just showing up is accomplishment enough. At the end of the day, taking the jump is the hardest part, and I jumped 3 times.

Check out 2 of my attempt attempt and everyone else's YouTube videos.
The one labeled Nikki 2, is actually attempt #1, and Nikki 1 is attempt 2

A slightly different trip to the Observatory

I’ve only been to the Observatory 3 times during all the years I’ve lived in LA. By coincidence, a couple of days after our nighttime hike, G and I went back to the Observatory for our third time. This trip was just slightly different in tone. We went all out on the nerd-o-meter and attended this event:

We really wanted to see the video in the Planetarium, but the event line-up was changed at the last moment and somehow we didn’t get the message, so we wound up only getting to hear the lecture. Bummer.

Still, the lecture was actually really interesting. In addition to learning the meaning of the word “Syzygy” [Note: spelled incorrectly in the flyer.- so clearly, I’m not the only Harvard Grad who was unfamiliar. According to Webster’s online : the nearly straight-line configuration of three celestial bodies (as the sun, moon, and earth during a solar or lunar eclipse) in a gravitational system] apparently, there are all kinds of things related to sun that can best be studied during an eclipse -- when viewed through proper instruments of course.

I’m going to share some of those tidbits now, seeing as how I am not at all scientifically minded, I am otherwise likely to forget. Don’t worry, there won’t be all that many nerdy science posts – in fact, this maybe the only one ever-- so bare with me.

The best time to see the sun’s corona (the sun’s atmosphere) is during and eclipse. This corona changes shape in cycles of about 11 years. There are polar and equatorial regions and the distribution changes along these lines due to changes in the magnetic field.

It’s also interesting that the corona is infinitely hotter than the surface of the sun (According to Wikipedia: The optical surface of the Sun (the photosphere) is known to have a temperature of approximately 6,000 K. Above it lies the solar corona at a temperature of 1,000,000 K.) No one is really sure why this it.

Finally, it was really just kind of interesting to see images of other celestial bodies, like Venus and Mars, travel pass in front of the sun and look pretty much like a flea on a giant grapefruit. (You can see a video of this on YouTube)

Prof . Jay Pasachoff claimed that it wasn’t the case, but it still seems to me that studying eclipses is just a good excuse to travel all around the word to exotic locations, since every other picture was of him and his students in some fabulous location with their telescopes – most impressive were the series from a coast in Greece.

I really don’t think they paint science properly for students while they’re in school. If I knew exotic travel could be part of the deal, I would probably have paid more attention.

A group of friends walked into the woods one night . . .

A couple of weekends ago G and I went out with some friends and challenged many of the principal tenants of the slasher film world. Our friend Josh and his girlfriend had the idea that we should all go for an evening hike and have a picnic. Are you allowed to hike in Griffith Park after sundown? Of course not. I thought this sounded like a great idea.

The funny thing is that everyone in the group fell into appropriate Slasher film rolls, splitting along couple lines. Josh and his girlfriend, B, played the foolhardy instigators.
G and I were both game, but trying to be somewhat sensible and not do anything tooooooooooo crazy. Pulling up the rear, Gino and Sarah made sure to remind us where in the film we were at every step of the of the way. Here’s how our personal slasher flick went:


Our scene opens on group of teenagers – um, I mean adults hovering around 30 – are joking around as they decide to go for a nighttime hike . . .

A non-descript hooded guy sits on the park bench. Clearly we have caught the first glimpse of our villain. It’s only a matter of time before he sneaks up on our hikers with an axe! . . . Or he’s just another hiker in the park after dark, taking a rest on a bench.

Oh no, two coyotes stand in the hikers’ path just up ahead! The demonic, rabid beasts bite one of the hikers unleashing a domino effect that will send the night into a phantasmagoric downward spiral as one after another, the hikers turn into zombies or were-coyote-people. . . Oh, no, wait. . . The coyotes just get out of the way as soon as the group approaches them, and the hikers continue on their merry way.

‘Ok, ok, Let’s remember the cardinal rules of horror flicks:
1. NEVER split up and 2. Stay on the main path, ok guys?'
‘Well, except, um, we think we want to go this way, up this dark, narrow trail.’
‘Um, ok, well, we’re just going to go up the normal way.’
'A’ight, see ya in a few’

And the group found the couple's corpses bruised and bloodied hours later . . . or maybe it was like 5 minutes later . . .and they were totally fine.

And now our protagonists round the dark, creepy corner at the top of the hill to find . . . cue scary music . . . Families . . . Families walking around the brightly lit observatory, enjoying a pleasant Friday evening.

‘This look like a good place to eat to you?’
‘Yeah, I’m STARVING!’
‘Want some wine?’
‘Totally.’
‘Just keep it on the DL. There’s a cop car right behind you.’
‘They’re gone now.’
‘GLUG, GLUG, GLUG’
‘Wanna, check out the Observatory?
‘Sure, I love the Tesla coil!’
‘Damn! It’s shut down for the night!’
‘Apparently, if they turn it on too often it can catch fire.’
‘Oh, no worries. I’ll just fake bribe the guy by offering him a fiver and accuse him of having no clout.’
‘That will never work . . . oh, wait, it did? Seriously?!’
‘Tesla Coil Rocks!!!’
‘So, you guys want to head back down now?’

Our hikers head back down the hill and head for home in happy spirits.

The End


Sure , this was one of those ideas that was either going to turn out terrible or completely brilliant. This time we landed on brilliant. It definitely would not have been as fun had everyone not played their particular role in the adventure. You need someone holding down the fort keeping things rational, but pushing the envelope a little makes it fun, and being a touch scared adds adrenaline.

The truth is that doing something just a little bit stupid every now and again is the best way to make you feel 16 again.

Nearly Endless Summer Kick-off: A Weekend Trip in Medellin

I love summer. I’m a Leo and very much ruled by the run. On top that, I grew up in mostly tropical and sub-tropical climates. Yeah, I love summer. And this year I get to have summer for pretty much half the year since we’ll be leaving sunny LA just after Labor Day, and we’ll be arriving in Australia for what will be their spring/summer.

Such an extraordinary summer deserves a kick ass celebration to hail its beginning. I think G and I did a pretty good job of honoring it with our short but incredibly sweet trip to Medellin over Memorial Day weekend. Yes, Medellin, Colombia. Escobar’s seat for many years. The subject of an entire season of Entourage. The butt of countless jokes about cocaine on every corner. Believe me I’ve heard them all . . . G and I were married there last year and we spent an entire year convincing people that really it’s ok for Americans to go there. (G was actually the superstar salesman – he ultimately convinced 80 people to fly from the US)

It’s really not just ok; it’s WONDERFUL. I have been there 5 times now and I can tell you that this is a city emerging from its dark past and charging full speed ahead. It still has a ways to go before it’s fully equipped for international tourism, but it’s well on its way. The scenery is spectacular. The city is nestled in a valley surrounded by lush, green mountains. G compares it to the Alps, but greener. They have beautiful museums, parks, and other cultural attractions. Parque Lleras is pretty much a one-stop shop for nightlife. This section of town is abounding with outdoor cafes, restaurants, and bars. The city also has lots of crazy clubs that are like nothing you’ll see in the States. On the outskirts of the city there are many quaint little towns to be explored.

I’ll admit, the city seems like it would be hard to navigate on one’s own (I haven’t attempted it), but cabs will get you anywhere you want to go. Like any big city, it certainly has some sketchy sections of town, but just use a little common sense as you would anywhere else. As well, most people only speak Spanish, so it probably is easier to go with someone who speaks the language. That said, most people that came to our wedding didn’t speak Spanish and while we arranged several events and tours, they also managed to have all kinds of great adventures with no help from us. A couple of friends were able to find a guide to take them on eco tours by doing a little internet research. Others did really well with tips from guidebooks or from the concierge (at the Hotel, this was the lovely Lauren) and other typical travel info sources.

So full disclosure, I’m not at all partial. My dad is GM of a gorgeous hotel in the city -- the InterContinental Medellin – which is where we got married. Sure I’m the boss’ daughter, but every person in that place went above and beyond to make our wedding more amazing than I could have ever dreamed.

(These pics of the party courtesy of Marc)

But that is how the people are there. They just are incredibly warm and kind. They are really excited when foreigners come to visit, and they really want people to love their city. And I have to say, I haven’t fallen in love with every place my dad has worked; but it’s hard to be impartial when everyone makes you feel like family.

(some of the key players in our wedding team - Freddy, Alba, and El Chef)

All of this said, G and I hadn’t had a chance to have a true vacation here since our very first visit. We ended up with travel vouchers from Copa Airlines because we got bumped from a full flight on the way back from our honeymoon last year . . . Ok, we didn’t get bumped, we voluntarily stayed in exchange for the vouchers and a paid night’s stay in Panama. The point is that we had travel vouchers on the verge of expiring and they needed to get used. What more could be more prefect than to use them to visit my parents and the city where we got married? And yes, I’ll admit, that the economic advantages of staying with parents did enter into the equation. In any case, we were really excited – G had been swamped with school and me with work, and a vacation was REALLY welcome.

It was short, but we really packed it in. Thanks Mom, for being a superstar planner. We got in a good mix of relaxing and pampering, mixed in with a couple of more active adventures, and lots and LOTS of eating. (This part I’ll be writing up soon for Cooking Off Book).

The first couple of days of our tip were dedicated to pampering and culture.
The Friday night of our arrival, my mom’s friend and teacher, Libe Diaz Diaz, was holding an art opening at the gallery she’s opening in her beautiful, historic home.

(G and I, with Libe and her husband Fernando, and my mom)

I wish we’d had our cameras on that evening, so that I could share pictures of her house and the gallery. Sadly, we were still weary from the trip and did not think to bring them with us. However, my very talented mother’s art was displayed amongst the paintings (And there was some great stuff there! If only we had more $$$, we could have definitely done some art-buying damage) so I will use this space to shamelessly plug my mom’s work:

The next day began with a full morning of beautification. Because we’d been working so hard at home, we were in the need of a little maintenance. As with many developing countries, imported goods are expensive here, but services are cheap. Even at the hotel, which wouldn’t be the cheapest place in town, services are pretty reasonable by American standards. So G had his do cleaned up, and I had my hands, feet, and eyebrows done, got waxed, and had my hair colored, cut, and blown out. Hey I can’t afford this stuff here; I live it up when I’m there. This is my stylist there, Alyrio. He did my make-up and hair for the wedding. He can also dance up a storm!

Newly spruced up, we ventured out of the hotel and headed to the Museo de Antioquia. (Anitoquia is the name of the state in which Medellin is located). I had been trying to get to this damn museum since my first trip, so I’m happy to have finally made it. Leading up to the museum is Plaza Botero, a square displaying many sculptures by the artist. Botero is one of Colombia’s most famous artists, and his work dominates a large part of the museum. I actually forget to call the museum by its real name and tend to refer to it as the Botero Museum.

From here, we tried to make it over to the Botanical Gardens, but unfortunately didn’t make it before closing. Oh well, next trip. Rodrigo – the hotel’s driver, and pretty much part of the family at this point -- drove us around showing us some parts of the city we hadn’t seen. My mom and I then stopped off at the San Diego Mall to get in just a little shopping, while G and my dad headed home. Saturday was capped of by an EXTRAVEGANT dinner at La Cava wine bar. Stuffed and happy.

Sunday found me standing over a ledge . . . literally. I was standing on a platform atop a very narrow spiral staircase waiting for some guy to push me. It turns out I wouldn’t be pushed; I had to jump. Me and my fear of heights actually had to jump off platform so that I could go flying across a lake (maybe it was a river, I’m actually not sure). G plays it off like it was no big deal, but zip-lining was a challenge for me. Of course, once you’re actually flying it’s a ton fun! All too quickly you find yourself crashing into the landing pad on the other side. This was my first experience zip-lining and it was quite exhilarating. My mom loved it! She’s fearless and could have taken a dozen more trips. My dad and Rodrigo watched from the landing pad area looking at us like we were crazy, but indulged us enough to take pictures. (Not sure how, but somehow Rodrigo somehow managed to avoid being in any pictures all day)

This zip-lining adventure took place at Piedras Blancas, a national park and natural preserve outside Medellin. Earlier that morning my parents, G, and I piled into the car with far too many snacks on hand, and Rodrigo drove us up the long, winding, but beautiful road while telling us stories of his days in the army, his youth, and previous crazier excursions up this route. Meanwhile, my dad –who is far more afraid of heights than I am— sat clutching the passenger side handgrip white- knuckled the entire time.

This park was set up beautifully for public’s enjoyment. You are charged a small fee to go in, for which you can use the picnic grounds and hiking trails. For an additional charge, you can also zip-line, rent boat, or see their Entomology museum. The place seemed really well planned out and organized. There were also campgrounds nearby, and an amazing number of bikers riding up and down the mountain roads outside the park. If you want to stay the weekend in the area, there is a Piedras Blancas Hotel in the park. We only saw the lobby when we went in to purchase tickets for the zip-line, but the place had a very cool, modern vibe.

We had a packed day plan, so after zip-lining we only had time to take a quick walk around and check out the bug museum, before it was time for Rodrigo to whisk us all away for out next stop.

We drove for quite a while – this might have otherwise been kind of tedious, but the countryside is spectacular. It also gave me time to squeeze in a short nap. We stopped at a roadside restaurant with a jaw-dropping view for an amazing meal and beers.

(This was the unfortunate view from the incredibly ill-situated restaurant, and my parents taking it all in.)

Our next stop was La Piedra Del Peñol, an absolutely towering rock formation. At the base you’ll find all kinds of little tourist shops and vendors.

(Even from the base, the view was AMAZING!)

Feeling brave from my earlier triumph over my vertigo, I was kind of excited to see how far up the rock I could go; it was a holiday weekend there as well, though, and it was very crowded, so we opted not to go up this time. But we’ll be back!

(We didn't get to climb the rock, so climbed this rock pile instead)

From here we made our way back down the mountain to la Represa de Guatape. The town of Guatape boarders a reservoir, and it has a long waterfront recreational area, like you might find at a boardwalk. There are vendors of all kinds selling all manner of food and treats. All the requisite water attractions are here as well. There’s a swimming area, jet skis, and cruise tours. There’s also another zip-line, much longer than the one we took, that sends you flying across the reservoir. We started out to make the line for this flight too, but opted out because line was too long and would have taken the rest of the day. We decided on paddleboats instead.

(Guatape)

G, my mom, and I paddled around the lake for an hour – the allotted time. My dad commented afterwards that all the other paddleboaters would go out and be back within 20 to 30 min. The guys renting the boats obviously make extra on each rental this way, because no one uses the boats for the whole time. That clearly wasn’t going to work with me. The strength of my legs and my desire to get my money’s worth are not to be underestimated. When G got tired of paddling, I had him switch places with my mom. It was a gorgeous afternoon and we took a long leisurely paddle around the reservoir. We nearly got run over by one of the cruisers . . . twice . . . but otherwise it was a long leisurely ride. G was a good captain, even playing slalom with the bases of a bridge. It’s a good thing because apparently neither my mom nor I can steer. Every time we tried, we ended up going the wrong direction. When the hour was up, we made our way back in.

(We avoided 2 assaults from this mini-cruise boat thanks to G's navigation skills)

Back on shore we found my dad and got some ice-cream bars. We eventually found Rodrigo, who had scored himself a pair of sunglasses by randomly taking up the cause of a sunglass vendor and helping him sell shades. Rodrigo is awesome.

Back at the hotel, we capped off another day with another huge meal, this time at the Fogón de Piedra. Meats abound, but there’s always a surprise or two, and I always come away feeling happily stuffed.

Monday was our day to chill by the pool. Amazingly, in 4 previous trips, G and I had never managed to take advantage of this. Look, it’s gorgeous:

After brunch, we head down and splashed around for a couple of hours. Later that afternoon, we indulged in more pampering and each got a massage. Ahhhhhhhhhh! Not too shabby. And time for another great dinner.

Tuesday, the time to wrap things up had sadly come around. We stuffed our bags with everything we’d come with, plus a few new purchases, and quite a few of the wedding gifts we’d been unable to bring back last time. (A final round is yet to come) Explaining the mixture of glasses, a bronze statue, and other assorted items to custom agents is definitely an interesting ordeal.

However, before we headed off to face the endless customs line (and believe me they are thorough here), there was still time for a little more fun. I had a chance to catch a great yoga class with my mom, did another quick round of shopping (although mostly for G this time), and of course we made time for one more fantastic meal before we head back up to the states.

Thanks Parents, for a great time. You Rock!

(This has nothing much to do specifically with Medellin, but Chrissy's frilly, fuzzy face is one of the things I most look forward to seeing when I go to visit my parents)