A friend of mine ate dinner at a very unique restaurant the other night: Opaque, where the dining room is pitch black and you can't see your hand in front of your face. Or the fork in your hand in front of your face. Or your plate, or your food or your neighbor in front of your face.
He wrote a marvelous review, here is a taste of it:
"In line with the adage "less is more", San Francisco restaurant Opaque takes something away (your ability to see) to provide something more. Dining at Opaque was a scary, sexy, nauseating, intimate, primal, communal eating adventure."
You can read the full post here.
In honor of Independence Day, show us something patriotic.
As the end of the school year draws near, I am looking forward to one thing in particular: I expect the number of exposure notices to drop significantly. We all know about the lice notices, it seemed like I was receiving one (or causing one to be received by others) every few days for months. But I didn't tell you about the others that have been regularly rolling in: pink eye (which she got), scabies (which she didn't), strep throat, hand, foot and mouth disease (isn't that for farm animals?), impetigo and scarlett fever. Just so you know how grossly misinformed I am, I thought scarlett fever was a serious disease. It's not. It seems that I'm confusing the colors of my fevers.
When Cassandre was little I shrugged off these notices. She almost never got sick and over time I just chalked them up to cya on the part of the school. Recently, however, I've developed a fear of the little white notes and the maladies they represent. Our battles with lice (won, I think, she said knocking on wood) and encounter with pink eye, and having met the classmate with scarlett (not yellow) fever, have resulted in me not being able to shake the warnings off the way I could before.
I expect the number of notices to drop, but not to stop. You see, I'm sending them to french camp, at the french school and the same rug rats they hang out with today are the ones they'll be running around with tomorrow. Except that since it's "camp" (and I don't mean that the way the Nazis did even though it is at school and some of you might not think that is very camp like...) anyway, I was saying that since it's camp she'll also get exposed (ha ha) to a whole new set of mystery dates. Kids who come in for two weeks and never come back.
It seems that not everyone needs day care the way I do and many parents actually keep their kids home during the summer. Or send them to real camp, or even sleep-away camp. I loved sleep-away camp. It was my first experience getting away from home and tasting independence. Of course I was horribly shy and it took me practically the whole summer to warm up to people (yes, I was that girl, the one you think is a total bitch until you realize she's just shy) but sleep-away camp is where I learned to ride a minibike, flirt with boys and steer a canoe - all very valuable life skills.
But I digress.
My girls are too young for sleep-away camp and they need to keep up with their French language skills over the summer so they don't fall behind. Plus, french camp is fun. No really. It's just like regular day camp but in another language, full of games, field trips, pools and running around. I wish I could go.
Really I wish I could go to sleep-away camp.
I got another notice today, this one for Roseola Infantum: here is what it said, italics are all mine.
What are the symptoms? Fever (often high) and a red, raised rash.
How is it spread? Direct contact with the mucous or saliva from the nose or throat of an infected person. And this is how you know we're dealing with kids. No matter how much I love you, if you are over five feet tall there is just no freaking way I am coming into contact with your sickly mucous membranes.
When do symptoms start? 5 to 15 days after exposure to the virus. Good, because there's nothing I enjoy more than waiting for fever and a red, raised rash.
Need to keep the child home? No. Unless child is unable to participate in activies. Hello ground control, are you kidding me? I mean isn't that why you're sending this freaking notice home to me in the first place? Because some kid got sick and got dropped at school anyway?
Return to school/childcare? Children may return to school/childcare after fever disappears. Or when you have given them so much motrin that no one can tell that they're sick anymore.Oh right, like you've never done that.
Remember when I said that the ESPN crew took some footage of Xav and me fly fishing in Chile? Look! We made the promo! Best part is that we don't talk. ;-)
Me "So, that Soulja Boy song is Juju's favorite, she listens to it all the time!"
Friend "That song is so awful, so degrading" (although she has it as her ring tone)
Me, realizing I have no idea what the song is about "?"
Friend "uh, you might want to look up "superman" in the urban dictionary..."
"Watch me crank that soulja boy
Then superman that ho"
Me: "oh!" insert silent scream here*
All I can say is how lucky I am that the lyrics are almost completely incomprehensible and Juju isn't old enough to read (yet).
Then as consolation, my friend pointed me to what is now my new favorite video:
the truth is that I also laughed my ass off, it was just too perfectly awful
Can I have one?
When I was pregnant and dreaming of my girl I made little lists in my head of the things I wanted her to inherit from me, along with the things I hoped she wouldn't get.
The list of "good" things was not very long but I did hope she would get my green eyes. These eyes are also my mother's eyes and my sister's eyes and I liked the idea of passing them on. I like that our eye color is so changeable. Sometimes they're blue, other times bright green - especially if we've been crying.
Of course genetics don't listen to wishes and my girl's eyes came out the most beautiful shade of brown, just like her father's.
One thing on my list not to pass along was my extreme reaction to physical trauma - especially if it involves blood. I've had this problem all of my life and it is out of character with the rest of my take-no prisoners personality. Despite lots of internal pep talks, the net result of many minor to moderate injuries has been me fainting. One time a nurse was taking my blood and not only did I pass out, but as a bonus I went into convulsions.
That is not to say that I'm not good in an emergency, I am. During the time of the emergency, when every thing/one is chaotic and panicking, I shine. If no one is taking charge, I take charge. If someone has taken charge I ask them for orders or start taking on jobs. I'm good this way. If you need a ride to the hospital, or a tourniquet, ask me.
The problem comes after the adrenaline has worn off. Once the emergency is over, when everyone is safe and sound, the realization of what I have just seen or done kicks in and I pass out.
Once Xav decided to prune our palm tree with a machete. Before I knew it, he'd put a nine inch palm frond through his finger next to the bone. I wrapped up his hand, drove him to the hospital and took care of everything. I waited until he was admitted and in good hands. I sat on the floor under his gurney listening to the scrape, scrape scrape of scalpel against bone.
And then the bees came.
The bees are my early warning system that I am going away for a while. They start faintly in the background and as they get louder my vision turns to tunnel and before you know it, I'm out. I know the symptoms well enough now to sit down ahead of time, but by the time I can hear the bees I've usually lost the ability to speak. Sometimes I can whisper something lame like "I'm going to..." but not always.
This is not a quality I wanted to pass to my kids.
The other day Cassandre and Juju were rough housing (as usual) when Juju played too hard (as usual) and jumped up and hit her really hard head under Cassandre's chin. Bam! Cassandre bit her tongue and started crying (as usual).
She came into my room and at first I didn't take her seriously. Crying is a tactic of hers to both get attention for herself and to get her sister into trouble and I've learned to take her tears with a grain (or a handful) of salt.
I advised her to calm down, to take a drink of water and to show me her injury. Her tongue was bleeding and there was a visible booboo, but she wasn't able to spit enough blood (despite lots of trying) to make me worry. I informed her with a smile that the tongue heals faster than any other part of the body and that by tomorrow she'll hardly notice a thing.
She looked at herself in the mirror and stuck her tongue out to examine her injury. The next thing I knew she had dropped my ceramic cup into the sink with a loud clang. I started to scold her for being careless when I realized that the rest of her body was crumbling in front of me.
I caught her just before she hit the sink.
I called Xav for help and together we carried her back to our bed. We raised her feet on pillows and put a cool cloth on her forehead. She started mumbling like she was waking up and slowly came to. We made her stay on the bed for a few more minutes but soon she was able to get up and walk around. She was hungry and wanted breakfast. By the time we were finished eating she was completely back to normal so we got in the car and I drove her to school.
On the ride to school I asked her what she felt/saw/heard as she was passing out and she told me about hearing the buzzing.
The bees came for her too.
"Sure Angelo, I'd be happy to help you make some pasta, what do I do?"
Well Karen, it's important to pay attention. Even though you are drinking some delicious belgium beer and chatting up the room, that's no reason to lose track of the fact that you are using a giant pair of rusty scissors to cut the lasagna-shaped pieces.
Snip.
Ouch that freaking hurt. But I was embarrassed and didn't want to cause a fuss. I quietly threw away the bloody pieces of lasagna pasta, grabbed a paper towel and put pressure on it. Rinsed the wound briefly with water (without looking) and had my friend Patty put on a band-aid.
That band aid soon soaked through so I put another one around it and then another across the top.
I didn't actually look at the cut until yesterday when it started seeping (ick) onto my keyboard. I changed the band aid and poured a bunch of hydrogen peroxide on it. Then I had to sit down for awhile. Yeah, I'm not so good with my own blood.
It began like any 22 hour trip: long legs in middle seats, lost luggage and missed connections. Welcome to Chile, I hope you weren't expecting any clothes. Or fishing gear. Thank you American Airlines, I wanted to love you, but you made that impossible.
But we were finally in Chile, and Chile is beautiful regardless of what shirt you're wearing, or how many days you've been wearing it. Even better, Nomads of the Seas has all the fly fishing gear anyone could need. As long as you don't mind a little wardrobe repetition, you're covered. And so we were.
The ship stood out from all the others in the harbor, elegant and beautiful at her own private pier. We stared at her, lustful and giddy. Soon she would be ours, but not yet. We had to wait until she was ready. A couple of glasses of Chilean wine and a delicious snack at the Nomads lodge and we were on our way, walking to the pier. The luggage that had actually made it with us to Chile boarded ahead of us. A small crowd of people gathered at the fence, watching us board the ship. No one talked to us nor asked for money, they just wanted to see. I wanted to see too.
On board the ship, we were given the grand tour by Jose, one of the fishing guides. He took us from top to bottom, side to side. I know I should say things like starboard and port but it's so obvious I have no recollection of which is which that it's better to keep things simple. First we saw the captain's bridge, tastefully stuffed with the most amazing technological equipment and some very reassuring paper maps. Next, the thalassotherapy tubs on the roof. The sauna. The wet room where we were to change in and out of our waders every day - a room so warm that no matter what we put in it, it was dry the next day. The teeny tiny galley that was to produce the most delectable meals. The bar. Our room. The helicopter pad.
I'm no expert on boats but my limited experience told me to expect weather-proof materials and small spaces. Onboard I found neither. Instead I found luxurious furniture and a king-size bed. I found art and teak and stainless steel and fantastic music that played all day long.
That first night the seas were a little rough and several of us were shaken enough to go to bed early, me included. I felt much better lying in my bed and the sea rocked me to sleep all night. Cocooned in exquisite sheets and a soundproof room, I slept like a baby.
The next morning we had breakfast: eggs, bacon, raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, melon, coffee (regular, espresso or latte or tea), sliced meats, granola, yogurt, chocolate croissants, toast, melon juice (delicious and green, it took a little getting used to). It was easy to linger but I couldn't. I had a helicopter to catch.
Down to the wet room to put on my waders, I was dressed for anything: long capilene underwear, fleece pants, Patagonia R2 layer, Simms windproof jacket (with my Patagonia rain jacket and gloves stuffed in my backpack). The All Important Hat. Last, but indispensible: Simms breathable waders and felt wading boots.
Regardless of the season, you never know what the weather in Patagonia will bring and we were there at the beginning of Fall so we kind of expected the worst. On the drive over from the airport in Puerto Montt, our driver told us the story he always tells when we asked about the weather in Patagonia: he was with his father one day when a tourist asked him about the weather in the region. He told the tourist that out of 365 days a year, it rains for at least 200 of them. His father said "Don't lie, it rains 400 days a year."
Perla, one of two of the ship's concierges, accompanied me to the helicopter pad. She seemed to know instinctively that I was the kind of person who might get lost on the way to the helipad and therefore was at risk of being late. You can't be late for the helicopter, the helicopter waits for no one. We hurried up the stairs, but it wasn't yet back from taking the other fishermen to their locations so we waited, wind-blown and excited.
Suddenly it was there.
Xavier dubbed it the "dragonfly" and as it approached I felt my adrenaline jump. I wasn't scared at all. My first helicopter ride.
I wanted to run up the stairs but was told to wait for instructions: Go up the stairs on the right side, down on the left side. Always wear your life vest, never walk behind the helicopter. The engineer held me tight as we approached. Holy crap, I get to ride shotgun.
I'm not sure if I can do justice to my first flight. Tears were in my eyes for sure. I've never seen the world so beautiful. The world from just high enough. A view of the world that made me hope, for real, that maybe we haven't totally screwed everything up. I mean, if places like Patagonia can exist then maybe there is hope for the rest of the planet.
In front of me lay the Andes, with glaciers and waterfalls and rivers. Everything was perfectly green or blue. The only brown came from the changing leaves and the river beds.
The fishing that first day was tough. Xav did ok (as usual) but I had a hard time catching anything. Fortunately the view from our boat was enough to keep my mind off my failure (mostly) until the end of the day, when it looked like I was going to get skunked. I had actually given up when Xavier cajoled me into making "a couple more casts." Out of the blue and completely by surprise, I caught and landed a four-pound brown trout. Xav was even happier than I was and maybe why we've been able to stay together so long: when I give up he doesn't. When he gives up, I don't. Sometimes it's that simple.
I had landed my first beautiful fish in Patagonia. A couple of pics, then we released him back to the water. We didn't kill a single fish the whole trip. It's funny to me that people are surprised by us not killing fish, we almost never do. I certainly don't have any problem eating fish, I do it all the time. But part of fly fishing is conservation, there are precious few enough wild fish left in the world, there is absolutely no need for me to kill one. If I was camping and hungry and needed food, I wouldn't think twice about roasting one over my campfire, but I had a chef waiting for me back at the ship. Back into the water it went.
That night dinner was delicious and this time there was no rocking to send us to bed early. After dinner there was a slide show comprised of all the photos the guides had taken during the day. The ecotourists had gone to a glacier and seen a colony of penguins that everyone joked had been kidnapped from Argentina. The photos showed everyone having such a good time, and there in the middle of the show, was a picture of me and my brown. Later, I called the kids on the satellite phone and was reassured to hear that everything was fine. There were no tears, no pleas for us to come home. Feeling quite happy, I stayed out late on the deck with Xav and smoked my fist cigar in Patagonia.
The days passed so quickly. Each day of fishing surpassed the one before. At night we would change location and the ship's movement would rock us to sleep. Often, in the morning and at dusk, there would be dolphins or seals feasting on the bait the ship's lights consistently attracted. The light was always beautiful and terrible at that hour. Beautiful and completely unphotographable for a girl shooting with a tiny Elph.
Despite the dire predictions, the weather turned out to be gorgeous. We'd wake up to fog in the morning that would burn off during the day. There were times when we were practically hot. The last day I stripped as far down as I could, to the last layer of capilene and my waders and still I was sweating. This is not normal of course, which makes me think we may have screwed up Patagonia after all.
There was only one day of serious rain. That day was also the only dicey helicopter ride. Wind and rain tossed us around, and I was glad to have my life vest even though the chance of landing on water was much lower than crashing in the trees. Life vests aren't much good in trees. But the orange color makes it easier to find the body. ;-)
Halfway through the trip the owner of the ship joined us. For my birthday, he personally flew us to some of his secret fishing spots. Accompanied by my two favorite guides it was the most amazing day of fishing in my life. One highlight, as we were walking along the edge of a pool in the river, the four guys I was with spotted a large trout. "Karen, you need to get that fish for your birthday. Do you see it?" No. I have no idea. They point with their hands and their rods. "It's about 30 feet that way, do you see it now?" No. I squint through my high quality and seemingly worthless polarized glasses. I have no idea where it is. "You need to get in the water." I start to wade, hoping I'm going in the right direction. "That's far enough," they say. "Cast!"
They point, I squint. I mentally cross my fingers and I conjure the fish. I cast the line. "Perfect!" Xav says. Then wham! The fish nails my fly and shoots off across the pool with it in it's mouth, hooked. I try to pull it in using just my hand on the line, but the fish is way too big. He jumps. Once back in the water I work like hell to get him on the reel. A thrilling five or ten minutes later I land him. Eight pounds and such a beauty. Silver chrome, the biggest trout of my life. I don't know who was more proud, me or the guys. "Happy birthday!"
Arms sore and a little tired, I was ready for more.
After that we caught hog after hog. Carlos, one of the guides, caught a giant 12 pound fish that put us all to shame.
That night I treated myself to a massage (Lorena's magic fingers, made me want to learn Spanish just so I could tell her how great she was). After an amazing dinner they brought me a cake with (happily) only a single candle. As much as I am fine with turning 44, I didn't need to see 44 candles blazing away on such a delicious cake. Later I called the girls who sang happy birthday and who were a little miffed that I was spending my birthday away from them, but not nearly as much as I'd worried they would be.
I just realized I haven't talked about the other passengers yet. Suffice to say there wasn't a bad egg in the group. Along with our friend Bill, there were a number of Brazilians who were there for ecotourism. Xav and I were especially taken with the ESPN film crew, a group of four who were so great and easy to be around that even the day they filmed us was fun and full of laughter. If you ever find yourself watching ESPN in South America one day, be sure to turn on Fly Fish America, who knows you might even see me!
The last day came much too soon. As much as I missed my kids, I could have stayed on the ship a few more days. To spend every day being flown around, spoiled by great fishing, spoiled more by great food and good company made the reality of my life seem a little drab by comparison.
After we left the ship we drove around Peurto Varras, a beautiful little town just north of Peurto Montt. We had lunch at a local restaurant and ate some of the best seafood of my life. A short ride to the airport and we were back to long legs in middle seats. During our hours-long layover in Santiago we had time for a quick dinner with our new friends Francisco and Pablo, who work for Nomads. Exquisite wine and a gorgeous steak fortified us for the long flight back to the States. You can't say America you know, 'cause it's America all the way to the end of the world. I used to I forget that too.
Once we landed at LAX my blackberry started receiving and the deluge of my life downloaded. Moved up launch dates and Juju's playground fracas. After a few minutes I turned it off. It was too soon. I wasn’t home yet and I decided that I didn't actually have to read any of that stuff until after I'd had a nice stay in the arms of my children. A short flight up to SF and that's exactly what I did.
Two weeks later, the trip has faded some, but not entirely. I can still make myself grin at the memory of my giant birthday trout. The long and breathtakingly beautiful hikes upstream. Perla's warm and welcoming smile from behind the bar. Finally making Carlos laugh at one of my idiotic jokes. The amazing views from the helicopter. My Flickr stream has over 400 shots of this repetitive beauty. I hope it gives you a small taste of Patagonia until you can experience it for yourself.
I'll remember this trip for the rest of my life.
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