Well, we are no more in Arlington, VA. We spent a solid
month planning the move, which was being complicated by the planned Home Leave –
that one month of mandatory vacation the State Department wants us to take
every time we change posts in order to re-familiarize ourselves with the
motherland. Our Home Leave was a 3-week road trip starting in Salt Lake City
and ending in San Francisco, followed by a week of cruising. The complications:
On one hand, Fat Cat could not come with us during Home Leave for the very
simple reason that we are we did not think it was a wise idea to have a
hyperventilating cat with massive claws stuck in the car with us for three
weeks. Thus, we had to find a temporary home and someone to put him on a plane
to Brazil. On the other hand, the planning was also complicated by the fact
that Home Leave would include both skiing and visits to rainy states, as well
as a week in California and one more in Florida. Which would mean that we would
need one suitcase with warm skiing clothes, and one with light, summer clothes.
A final complication is that we leave for Brail immediately after the cruise,
for which purpose we have additional 4 suitcases, weighing about 60lbs each,
which we clearly could not and would not take on the roadtrip with us unless we
traveled on a school bus. Which we did not. So, we deposited the 4 monstrous
suitcases with a couple of VERY close friends and the Diplomat will go fetch
them after the cruise is over on the day we leave for Brazil and drag them
somehow to the airport where Son and I will be eagerly waiting. As I said, a
lot of planning went into this. I am also currently VERY suitcased-out.
I’d like to offer a few astute observations from our road trip so
far:
- America is beautiful.
- America is largely under-populated. There were miles upon miles without seeing a single soul, whether it was human or bovine (and there is a LOT of bovine around the NW).
- America has an astonishingly large amount of Walmart and Fedex trucks. Every second truck on the road is a Walmart truck, and every third one – Fedex. What are people SENDING and BUYING so much??
- America has an even larger amount of microbreweries. Each one claims to have the BEST beer. Half of it tastes the same.
We started the trip in Salt Lake, leaving the frivolous life
of FSI behind and flying over. We settled in a rather dated Sheraton in
downtown SLC, and spent the next three days skiing in Alta, a fabulous skiing
mountain, which was made even more fabulous by the fact that no snowboarders
were allowed there (no hatin’ but suffice it to say that there is nothing more
annoying to a skier than a posse of young snowboarders with pants bottoms hanging
lower than Foucault pendulum, sprawled out leisurely in the middle of a run, usually
right after a turn and thus, not clearly visible, chatting the day away oblivious
to the frantic skiers trying to avoid them upon stumbling upon them suddenly
and with great speed). Son was deposited in ski school, which he absolutely
loved while we gallivanted though the sunny, powdery slopes and drank copious
amounts of beer.
I would like to take a brief pause from my typically
flippant writing style and pay homage to a good friend and reader of this very
flippant blog who passed away about two weeks ago. The reason we began our trip
in Salt Lake was indeed to see our friend, a fellow diplomat with whom we
worked in Bangladesh, who was fighting a very cruel terminal disease. Ever courageous
and gallant, just a month before our arrival he had told the Diplomat that he
could not wait for us to arrive so that we can all ski together and have fun in
their gorgeous house in Park City. In fact, he had been skiing every day until then
with zero function in his arms. Lou Gehrig’s disease (or ALS) had other plans,
however, and less than a week before our arrival, our friend suddenly passed
from the various complications that come with ALS, leaving behind a gorgeous
wife and two small baby girls. I am forever grateful that she allowed us to
spend some time with her last week, sharing memories over exceptional homemade
meatloaf and copious amounts of red wine. Dear D, you were an adventurer in the
true sense of the word and you will inspire us forever! May you rest in peace!
From Utah, we continued through the vastly unexciting vast landscape
of vast burnt high desert to the happening town of Boise, Idaho, where we
stayed with another couple of fabulous friends of ours. They happen to have a
set of twins the exact same age as Son, which made for a VERY loud house for
the three days we were there. I must say that Boise was an unexpected delight –
the very first night we arrived, the lady of the house H took me on a
wine/beer/chocolate/nut/food tasting bonanza through town, also known as “First
Thursday.” The idea is that every first Thursday of the month, participating
shops and restaurants open their doors until later than usual, allowing
Boisians and their lucky visitors to stroll through downtown, enjoying
galleries hosting wine tastings, unique stores offering cheese and snacks, even
nut shops featuring microbrews! It was fabulous! I barely remember getting
home. I did manage to acquire, however, in my, err, rather felicitous state, a
bag of exceptionally spicy peanuts, appropriately dubbed “Ghost Chilies.” I
remember eating a few of them in the store, thinking them a stupendous idea at
the time. Keep in mind that at the same moment I was sampling raw beer from a
25 gallon jug so my judgment just MIGHT have been clouded on that one. The next
day it became apparent that eating more than one per day was injurious to the
health. Also, no one else but me would go near the damn nuts. I persevere and
eat them. As a matter of fact, I JUST had one, to prove a point. I am amazing!
I am also currently breathing fire more impressively than the dragons on “Game
of Thrones.” The point it – Boise is happening! Go visit.
From Boise, we set out to Salem, Oregon on a two-day trip,
spending the night in Bend, OR. Thankfully, the landscape changed and we began
enjoying rolling hills and multiple cows around us. In Bend we checked in into
the stylish Shilo Inn Suites Hotel from the similarly named shabby chic mid-Western
chain, which besides a rotating Lazy Boy also boasted a devastatingly handsome
gas fireplace with an elegant wall timer, allowing for full 15 minutes of
unmitigated romance and natural warmth. Looking dreamily into the gay, most natural
flames of the fireplace, I began to think that I knew why those jetsetters Angelina
Jolie and Brad Pitt named their first-born child Shilo – could it be that she was
the wonderful outcome of a playful night in front of the gas fireplace at one
of the several locations of the Shilo Inn Suites in, say, Tillamok, Oregon
after a day of sampling cheese or maybe in Nampa, Idaho or even Elko, Nevada??
I am just saying…
We had dinner in one of the ubiquitous microbreweries there,
The Deschutes Brewery, where Son
as usual drew dinosaurs all over the children’s menu (the kid is somewhat of a
Dino Picasso, if I may say so rather proudly!) and I as usual ate an enormous burger
with three kilos of French fries. Good times! The next day was back on the road
towards Salem, another 130 miles or so. Easy, no? No. Everyone kept mentioning
that we “would be fine if we have chains or traction tires.” Traction who? The
weather was a pleasant 59 F, and I kept remarking just how lucky we had been
with it all along. Apparently there was some mythical pass where the situation
could be different. We scoffed, bought a coffee at yet another ubiquitous phenomenon
in the Northwest – a drive through espresso joint – and went on our merry way into
the forest. 20 mins later, it began to drizzle. Another 5 and it was raining.
Then it turned into flurries, and to my amazement another 15 mins later we were
full deep into a snow blizzard. WHAT?? The Diplomat was cool as a cucumber, and
glued himself behind a semi-truck who slowly went up through “the pass”
clearing the road for us. I sat there in the passenger seat, white-knuckled,
without chains or traction tires, or even without so much as a sweater,
counting miles. Folks, it was surreal! Mere 30 miles below, it is sun and
rainbows. Up there – blizzards and traction tires. Another 20 mins and we were
out of the snow inferno, back into pleasant green pastures and more placid
looking cows. Soon we were in Salem, a delightful little city in the midst of
the green vastness of Oregon. Son spent the next three days creating major
mischief with his slightly younger cousin while we tasted wine, spent a windy
day at the Oregon coast, drank more beer (where else) at a local microbrewery,
and generally did not do anything useful besides laundry.
Next stop – San Francisco (well, San Ramon, where my sister-in-law, or SIL, lives). The trip had to be broken in two
again, given the over 600 miles distance. The Diplomat decisively determined
that we shall cruise through fun coastal roads rather than drive on the
highway, and thus, had to wake up at the crack of dawn to be on the road by
7.30 am. I agreed and we managed to be on the road by 8.30 am, which isn’t bad
given our usual standards. Packed with snacks and waving tearful goodbyes with
his cousin and his 36-week pregnant wife, we drove off to the border of California
in search of Redwoods and more sunshine. The Redwood National and State Park is
located in the northernmost coastal California, right off the border with
Oregon and stretches about 50 miles south, generally oriented along Route 101
between Crescent City and Orick. It is home to majestic redwood pines thousands
of years old and quite ginormous. Some of the tree trunks are so large that some
idiots earlier in the previous century decided to carve tunnels through them so
that they can drive cars through the tree. Man and nature, true harmony.
We drove slowly through this natural wonder and decided to
stop and take what was supposed to be a 30 minute hike through the grandiose forest.
The trail, however ended back into the parking lot after 7 minutes. Clearly
disappointed, plus Son insisted to checking for some of the alleged local fauna
like Roosevelt Elk and banana slugs, I decided to take another trail that went
somewhat parallel to the main road and promised to cross it in half a mile and
go back through the trees on the other side of the road according to the nice
map we looked at. All was well, and the Diplomat, Son and I were enjoying a
pleasurable walk through the beautiful nature until it became clear that we are
back to where we had parked the car except that we were about 400 feet from the
road and while we could see the car parked there, there was no trail that led
to it as promised. Clad in knee-high boots, I looked at the high grass and
random shrubbery and decided that we will just cut across NATURE and get back
to the road. While it wasn’t as easy as walking on a trail path, it wasn’t
climbing Mount Everest either. The Diplomat disagreed. He did so loudly. In
fact, he kept disagreeing though the 5 minute trek that did involve, among
other daring things, climbing on a cut tree trunk and jumping over a small
ditch that ran parallel to the road. The man is just not the outdoorsy type. Clearly, we survived. We managed to get to Fortuna that night,
where we had dinner in a…YES, a MICRO-FREAKING-BREWERY! Dude…
The next day we had about 200 miles left and looked like we
would make it to the house of SIL before lunch until suddenly
the Diplomat got a hankering for mission-style burrito. So, tacos were had and
then we just happened to stumble upon Sonoma Valley so we had to stop at our
second favorite vineyard, Clos du Bois, to taste some of their newest
inventions and eat our mission-style food
(is it just me or “mission-style” sounds dirty??) Then one last pit stop at
McDonalds and after 3 hours in San Francisco traffic, we were finally at the
doors of SIL’s house in San Ramon, CA. Epic.
Fun fact – when I returned the rental SUV that same night, I
decided to look exactly how many miles we had driven. Check this out – it was
EXACTLY 2000 miles. EXACTLY! To the mile! Unreal. Karma. The trip was awesome.
You’d think that spending 8-9 hour days locked in a car with your beloved and
your small child for days on end will end up in several nervous breakdowns but
it did not. It was, in fact, rather fantastic! Thank you, Mr. Diplomat for
driving 1800 miles (I did drive here and there) and never once complaining
about it! We should do this again. Like, in 10 years.
In the next post, I will regale you with stories of how Son
entertained himself during the trip (very useful info) and how we went to a Go
Kart place today.
