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Category Archives: Travel

Wish List

09 Tuesday Sep 2014

Posted by jala in adventure, aging, bucket list, dreams, lessons, life, lifestyle, resolutions, Travel, values, writing

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adventure, aging, beauty, children, family, Family Matters, fun, life, travel, vacations, writing

wishes

Some of the things I hope to someday do:

1) Learn origami. Everything about this art form is enchanting and delicate. Perfectly magical.

tumblr_m7n1bkGiTl1qejujwo1_500

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2) Visit Ireland. I specifically wish to someday do a bike tour of the coastline. I hope to walk along the Cliffs of Moher with my old Leica camera. I bet I can take better pictures with that Leica than Blas with his newfangled GoPro.

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3) Learn Sign Language. There’s something exceptionally graceful about sign language. There’s poetry in the quiet gestures of a person signing. Simply beautiful.

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4) Write a book. Ah, that’s truly a dream. A real undertaking reserved for the sonorous voice, the powerful story, and the string of pearls which binds it all together.

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Un vrai rêve.

5) Kids graduate college. Who knows what paths our children will follow, but it is our strongest desire each will walk across a stage someday with a degree in hand. To these we are fully committed: a magical childhood, a loving home, a meal each and every day, some sort of moral guidance, and a complete education. (We hope to muster at least three of these.)

in_the_air

6) Canine companion.  Ajax was my faithful companion for nearly 14 years. When he died I never thought I could ever have a dog again. It’s been 5 years since his last day, and though I never thought it possible, I think I am meant to have a dog again 🙂

ajax

 

♥

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It’s a Maine thing

23 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by jala in 500 days of Summer, adventure, beauty, family time, husbands, life, lifestyle, Maine, Portland Head Beach, road trips, Travel

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adventure, family, Great Outdoors, lighthouses, Maine, travel, vacations

maine cobble

In memory of the beautiful Maine coastline, I took a small round pebble; B, however, filled a Nike bag with rocks.

As we checked our baggage on our return from Portland, Maine, the Delta Airlines clerk stated one of my bags weighed 91 lbs. It was 21 pounds over the allowed weight limit. I had to either get a new bag, throw away things, or redistribute the weight in all our luggage to avoid the extra $200 fee. Sure we picked up a few things along the way during our trip, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why we had such excess weight.

Thankfully Portland International Jetport is a slow airport (by South Florida standards) and no one was standing in line behind us. I started the process of opening all of our bags and redistributing all of our things to make the weight limit. After 30 minutes of inventive redistribution, we made the cut and didn’t pay any overage fees. But still, I couldn’t figure out the excess weight issue.

Once home, I found the culprit. In passing, I’d mentioned to B that I wanted to make a lamp out of the rocks we’d seen on the beaches near Portland Head Light. I didn’t realize it but he picked up several rocks (a bag full) and stuffed them into our suitcase. Hence, the excess weight.

I still carry my pebble in my pocket. It’s round, smooth and small. Dry, it is gray with a white stripe. Wet, it’s a shade of pink, gray and white. It’s a reminder of the cobble beaches, the quiet surf, and the age-old lighthouses, vigilant in the distance.

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Lighthouse keeper’s daughter

16 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by jala in 4th of July, 500 days of Summer, adventure, children, family time, friendship, Great Outdoors, life, Travel

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adventure, children, daughters, family, Friends, fun, Great Outdoors, travel, vacations

mabel

In her purse you are likely to find anything from a carburetor to a medicine cabinet. She knows every word to every song 2 Live Crew ever rapped between 1990 and 1995, her hands are always perfectly manicured, and she can out-power walk just about anyone while carrying 40 pounds of sundry items in her purse. I suspect she’s received Navy Seal hand-to-hand combat training, so do not mess with her latte. Oh, and best of all? She is the daughter of a lighthouse keeper!

Inadvertently, or perhaps on purpose, she and her husband whipped Blas and I into shape during our vacation. We had no choice but to keep up or get left behind. B and I have concluded they hold taxis and other forms of common transportation in contempt. I’m not sure why.

Each and every day I prepared for leisurely strolls, yet somehow I ended up traversing vast distances — in one case, 18 perfect miles. I’m certain Blas and I both lost weight during our vacation.

tru

Their wonderful daughters are also seasoned power walkers. Their littlest is a clever whippet of a girl who matched our son Ryder head-to-toe in all their games. Their eldest, one of our daughters’ dearest friends, is just as pretty in the inside as she is on the outside.

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Great people. Great Friends. I highly recommend them … if you can keep up with them 🙂

 

 

Grateful

16 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by jala in 4th of July, 500 days of Summer, adventure, changes, children, family time, Great Outdoors, lessons, life, lifestyle, road trips, time, Travel, values

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adventure, children, family, life, Relationships, travel, vacations

williamsburg2014This month we had the good fortune to take some time off and unshackle ourselves from our daily grind. The break gave us a chance to slow down and reacquaint ourselves with our kids and each other. I didn’t really know how much I needed this time away until I actually had it. There were times during this trip where I slowed my pace just to prolong an ordinary moment alone, or one with my kids. These were not moments of great reflection or anything like that, but just of quiet solitude and unhurried dialogue. It’s as close to tranquil as I’ve felt in a very long time 🙂

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We caught a small glimpse.

29 Thursday May 2014

Posted by jala in adventure, changes, late nights, lifestyle, Miami, Travel

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Flamenco, fun, life, Little Havana, Miami

littlehavanaSince our voluntary banishment to the suburbs, over 14 years ago, our day-to-day contact with Miami’s environs has diminished. Especially these last few years, three kids later, the idea of a night out in the town must involve a movie, a drink, and possibly dinner within a 5 mile radius of our home. We normally hit all those marks at CineBistro and are home no later than 11:30 p.m. — a minute past 12 and we are all shot to hell.

But now and then we gingerly venture out beyond suburbia. Miami, dare I say it, has steadily developed and grown several cultural hubs in areas previously saddled by crime and neglect. The other night we visited Little Havana to meet up with an out-of-town relative. My point of reference for this neighborhood is limited to the infamous Calle Ocho Festival, Cuban food and Cuban cigars. That’s no longer the case. Today, this area is undergoing a cultural face lift which includes a vibrant art and music scene.

That night we were called forth by the sounds of a forceful “canto”  emanating from Casa Panza, a Spanish/Cuban restaurant on Calle Ocho. My husband, as his father, cannot ignore the siren’s call of a Flamenco singer. There, the vigorous hand clapping, foot stomping and commanding tenor of the Flamenco canto, tethered us to our seats. A performance was underway. The male lead singer (dressed as a female), had a keen interest in Blas. It must have been his Moorish eyes.

We came home past curfew. We didn’t complain.  We caught a small glimpse. Miami is changing, and it’s all for the better.

 

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Raices

20 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by jala in foodie, Puerto Rico, Travel

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food, foodie, gourmet, Puerto Rico, travel

So, I’m not a foodie and I’m definitely not a food critic, but I can discern good Puerto Rican food from bad Puerto Rican food for two reasons: 1) I’ve screwed up enough white rice and red beans to know the difference; 2) at one point in my life, I did call this evergreen, 112×40 mile island, home.

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In Miami, gourmet Cuban restaurants are a dime a dozen, but Puerto Rican restaurants, specifically good Puerto Rican restaurants are hard to find. Cuban food, while similar, is not a close substitute to the food of my youth.

The Spanish word “criollo” refers to something that is native, specific or authentic to a region, a country or a people — in this case, Puerto Rico. This weekend, we were super excited to find a Puerto Rican restaurant, Raices, which promised to deliver on all things criollo.

Located in Homestead, Florida, this restaurant serves island style food which reminded my husband and I of the food kiosks in Piñones we used to visit along the sandy northern beaches in Puerto Rico. We ordered mofongo — a fried plantain dish mashed together in a pilon (a wooden mortar and pestle) with onions, meat and vegetables; piononos – a rolled ripe plantain filled with ground beef and cheese; and the staple of all Puerto Rican food, red beans and rice.

mofongo

mofongo

pionono, red beans and rice

pionono, red beans and rice

We also ordered tembleque (translated it means tremor) – a traditional dessert made of coconut cream, milk and spices — to polish off our meal.

tembleque

tembleque

I strongly urge all foodies and non-foodies who are interested in sampling traditional Puerto Rican food to visit Raices Restaurant for great service plus affordable and tasty food.

 

 

Road Trip

05 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by jala in adventure, children, empowerment, lessons, life, road trips, Travel

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adventure, children, life, parenting, travel

jar

Since last July, we’ve been collecting our loose change for a road trip we plan to take this summer. The kids have been scrupulously picking up change wherever they see it — the bottom of my purse, the street, and their father’s pockets — and tossing it into our jar.

This started as an exercise to teach them not just how to save money, but how to work collectively for a shared goal. We estimate we must have somewhere between $200 – $300 right now. Hopefully, by the time the trip rolls around, we will have collected close to $500. This money will be their stipend for our two weeks on the road.

If my hunch is right, Ryder is dreaming of spending that money on cotton candy and carnival rides; Sophie hasn’t given it a thought; and Maya is currently reviewing her stock portfolio and finalizing her investment decisions ♥

The (not so) Great Outdoors, Part 2

23 Monday Jan 2012

Posted by jala in adventure, children, family time, Florida, Great Outdoors, irrational fears, Travel

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adventure, children, Great Outdoors, life, parenting, vacations

If you can survive one night without modern luxuries, by which I mean: electricity, indoor plumbing and a roof over your head, do not read on.

Back at the camp site I rushed the kids to the public restrooms. Initially I thought I wouldn’t bathe them since we were just staying overnight, and really, how dirty could they possibly get? It turns out the kids were unspeakably grimy and smelly. They reeked of chum, their faces and arms were sticky with the ice cream I’d willingly bought moments before, and their extremities were scratched, bruised and dirty. Really dirty.

Bathing 3 super excited kids in icy cold water, in a narrow and tight space, can be frustrating. Especially if the kids you are bathing are non-compliant. We made our way back to the camp, clean and excited for the evening that lay ahead. I thought to myself the great outdoors perhaps weren’t so bad after all.

Two minutes later I was frantically rummaging for Off! insect repellant. No-see-um mosquitos can unleash hell on earth to any fool who bares his skin anytime between sunset and sunrise. They are impervious to insect repellant so it’s a futile barrier against them. We were relentlessly attacked and assaulted by those mosquitos the entire night.

Unvanquished but reeking of insect repellant, we gathered around a small fire B had ignited near the rocky shore. We roasted marshmallows and watched the sun flicker its last rays behind the horizon.

 

Night fell quickly, without preamble or romance. One moment there was a penumbra of light and suddenly, there wasn’t. We scrambled for flashlights, even though it was just after 6pm.  I looked around at the RVs in the campground and no longer felt contentment or solidarity with those safely ensconced campers. Instead, I felt a creeping sense of panic and doom. Camping was no longer about solidarity. In the words of a geometry teacher I had back in high school, those in RVs had become “the haves,” and those in tents were the “have nots.” Unfortunately, we were part of the less enviable group: the “have nots.”

I envied their light. I envied their roofs and doors. But mostly, I envied their safety. We huddled in our tent. The kids were excited for the night that lay ahead. B tethered Jack up to the bench just beside the tent. Inside, B read a story to the kids. It was perfectly still and quiet outside. Here and there the sound of the wind picking up the leaves, or the rustling sounds of low branches brushing against our tent interrupted the otherwise deep silence of the night. In the distance we could hear small waves reach the shore, but a deep quiet persisted despite the fact that all around us there were others in tents or campers a stone’s throw away.

B marveled at the silence and the clarity of the stars above. Our tent had a skylight and because we had a perfect moon in a cloudless sky, the stars were countless and extremely bright. We gazed at the sky and collectively fell asleep. And though I felt a slight tremor of fear as I drifted off to sleep, B’s sense of peace was somehow deeply comforting.

I’d say about 3 hours later all hell broke loose. It started with a somnambulist moment for Maya. I awoke to find her climbing over Sophie trying to make her way out of the tent. I guided her back to her sleeping bag but the night was shot for me. As I tried to fall asleep, Jack began to growl. It was a growl unlike anything I’d ever heard before. He growled a low menacing sound which at times he punctuated with a very loud bark.

The wind had picked up and what had previously been a pleasant soft breeze had now become a persistently loud gust. I lay there hoping Maya wouldn’t try to make her way out again, and worried Jack’s growl wasn’t the paranoid bark of an urban dog but a meaningful bark from a dog sensing danger.

Somehow I drifted into a quasi state of sleep again. This time, however, I was awakened by Sophie’s stifled cries. Jack’s persistent growling scared her and she now needed to go to the bathroom. B sent us off to the bathroom, mistaking my false bravado with real courage. I nearly sprinted to the restrooms with Sophie, swinging my flashlight from left to right like a madwoman, all the while fully aware I wasn’t doing much to calm her fears. As we made our way out of the bathrooms, a man blocked the entrance holding a flashlight. I pushed past him and SPRINTED with a hysterical Sophie all the way back to our tent. Sophie and I nearly collided with B as we ran into our campsite. He’d heard us running back and had walked out to see what the fuss was all about.

Now Sophie, Jack, B and I were awake. Sophie quietly whimpered beside us as Blas and I exchanged time checks, wondering how many hours were left before sunrise. It was barely past midnight, and the night lay out before us interminably long and full of insidious intent. Now every sound was magnified a thousand fold, and with nearly every growl Jack made, B would walk out of the tent with a knife in one hand and a flashlight in the other. It was both comforting and terrifying to know our collective safety rested on my husband’s wits, a skittish dog and a steak knife.

To reassure me, B kept saying it must be a raccoon prowling around. That damned raccoon tortured our imagination, it seemed, for hours. Sophie drifted in and out of sleep, and Maya, like a Shakespearean soothsayer awoke to warn: “Cover the roof of the tent. It might rain.” And just like that, she drifted off to sleep again.

At 2am B rushed to cover our tent. A cold drizzle had begun and with the possibility of a sturdy rainfall, in the dead of night, B stepped out yet again to cover our tent. The sounds of B swiftly covering the tent and my muttered curses must have awakened our littlest one, Ryder. He stood, walked to the edge of the tent, turned to face us, lowered his pajamas — his purpose was clear. B grabbed Ryder just as he began to urinate in our tent. B returned to the tent with Ryder, just in time to escort Maya to the restroom. Really, the level of absurdity rivals anything I’d ever experienced.

We remained fully awake the rest of the night. Like a sentinel on his night beat, B restlessly covered the perimeter of our campsite, ready to leap at all imagined (or real) intruder who dared upon us. Sophie slept fitfully and repeatedly told me she never wanted to camp out again. Maya and Ryder, more or less, slept blissfully unaware of the hell that had been unleashed throughout the night. Jack greeted us in the morning both hoarse and limp. God knows what demons he faced that night.

Sunrise did not greet us that morning. Instead, we greeted the sunrise. We summoned the sun from its slumber, and with our hearts and minds declared, “Enough is enough. Damn it, we need light.”

We woke the kids up around 6am and fed them breakfast. We rode our bikes out to the aptly named “Garcia’s Flagler’s Folly,” and bore witness to the famous “Florida Keys’s sunrise.” Sophie and I quietly sat in a butterfly garden beside the ocean’s shore, and watched the sun stretch over the sea. B, Ryder and Maya threw out their fishing lines and caught and released more fish during those early morning hours than can be believed.

Together, we packed our tent, cleaned our campsite, and loaded our truck. We left the campgrounds with a sense of excitement, unity and if I might admit it, relief.

Most people who know me and my habits, have since asked me whether I would do it again. The answer is yes. I won’t ever campout again. I don’t have the constitution for it, but, in an RV, as my old geometry teacher once goaded me, as a “have,” yes, I would certainly do it again.

The opportunity to have uninterrupted time with my family, under a cloudless sky, a bicycle and the beautiful outdoors — yes, few things are truer or more beautiful than the time we shared in Bahia Honda.

Yes, I’d do it again — noo-see-ums, raccoons and all.

La Ville-Lumiere

11 Wednesday May 2011

Posted by jala in adventure, Europe, husbands, love, marriage, Relationships, Travel

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

husbands, marriage, Relationships

I found this great image and it brought to mind the streets of Paris B and I visited long ago. In fact, 10 years ago.

This month we are celebrating 10 years of marriage and I have to say I feel mostly disbelief at how quickly time passes. Who knew either one of us could commit to anything this long? Alas, we have. And as it turns out, we are happily in it for the long haul.

During our honeymoon I dragged B through the streets of Paris, oohing and aahing over every door, balcony, and cobbled stone street I saw. The language barrier and the wicked hangover he still harbored from our wedding somehow morphed into flu-like symptoms accompanied by a ferociously bad mood I could neither temper with medicine or distract with the sights. After several days traipsing with my somewhat recalcitrant hubby in and out of museums, cathedrals and restaurants, we hopped on a train bound for Holland.

There, he experienced a miraculous improvement in his health and mental outlook. Looking back, I’d say the herbal cafes, the Heineken factory and the Red Light District may have had something to do with it.

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