Going Home

The song says you can never go home. You can journey back to the latitude and longitude of the city of your birth or childhood. The journeys vary by means of transportation or route or the people that accompany on your way to revisit your roots. How long the trip varies. But how long is it before you realize why you left? Or wonder if you could ever move back?

You come home as the starving college student who gets three days off and leaves after the dinner shift in the restaurant that helps subsidize tuition and drive 12 hours through the dark across the plains of Minnesota and South Dakota. You bring your roommates home to go prairie dog hunting, or cruise through Custer State park on a Gold Wing when your heart stops when a deer is hit by a Suburban and comes careening into the bike. And you relax—the motorcycle wasn’t even dented.

Or you fly across the Canadian Rockies with your new family to show them the ranch you grew up. Your husband sits up front in first class (benefits of being an air traffic controller); you sit in coach with the girls. Thank god they weren’t teenagers. Unfortunately your new family has recently seen Pauly Shore’s “Son-in-Law” and believe all South Dakotans are inbred.

Or the gut-wrenching, tear-filled, vodka-dulled trip to the hospital where Mom lay in a coma, unrecognizable from a brain aneurysm- the hollow, haunting pulse of the ventilator echoing in the room. And after days of helplessness, waiting in the ICU, going back to your “real” world until more information was available. Reboarding the Northwest jet again a few days later to make the funeral arrangements.

The years tick by. The budding 10 year old landscape photographer takes a black and white (before it was trendy) with the free camera her parents got for opening a savings account. Boy did I need lessons. Or a better camera. Don’t miss those 126 mm boxes.

The Hill, 1976 The Hill, 1986 The Hill, 2008

Thirty two years of growth Three decades bring tree growth, photographic technological advancements (I LOVE digital SLR), pounds and wrinkles. And still, you wonder where the time went. How could so many revolutions around the sun go by so quickly?

And can I really be thinking that I miss weeding the acre garden, harvesting, and canning & freezing the zuchinni, beets, peas, beans, corn, tomatoes. 1976 - the year of the beet. We must have canned (although why it was called that when we put them up in pint Mason glass jars) a couple hundred jars. Toward the end of the 80's Mom finally threw the last of them out. Or 1981 when zuchinni grew like dandelions. Cake, bread, muffins, cookies. The only thing we didn't do was bread it and deep fry it - I might have liked it then. Husking bushels and bushels of corn. Tassel silk that coats the body and tickles.

Or sitting on the 1957 Case tractor going round and round and round the alfalfa fields with the mower, the rake and the baler? Dad's army surplus water bottle filled with warm boarding on hot well water behind the seat, next to the snakebite kit. Ever vigilant for baby deer and rattlesnakes. Ducking from the diving barn swallows feasting on the disturbed bugs. The joy of being relieved by one of your siblings and going across the highway for a cold can of Coke and an Otter Pop - grape flavor. The summer days whittled away sans Ipod or MP3 player. And how could I forget the sneezing. Alfalfa allergies! Good to have those big red farmers handkerchiefs.

Branding and dehorning the calves to start the summer. Shearing the sheep (I was so glad when Dad sold the herd). Stomping the wool in a 10 foot long burlap bag. It probably wasn't 10 feet, but I wasn't very tall. And let me tell you natural lanolin sucks.

Horse shows and rodeos. Beauty, the bay Welsh pony, that was an expert and faking a hurt leg as soon as we arrived at the arena. Take her back home and she would gallop out to pasture. 4-H projects - baking, photography, arts & crafts. And the culmination of summer, the long awaited Central States Fair in August. We saved aluminum cans all year long for ride tickets.

As a reward for transforming the green stalks of alfalfa tuffed with purple clusters in to brown prickly bales of hay, Dad would take the family up the road to the base of Mount Rushmore to the Dip-a-Lot Ice Cream Shop. A double scoop of ice cream in a sugar cone. Aah the decadence. I was a cookies and cream dipper. Yummm.

And here we are back again in 2009. My suitcase is upacked, the air purifier on since Trixie the cat is now allowed in the house. The green shag carpet in the living room has long been removed. The view from the picture window is still beautiful. But despite the fact that I have been gone for twenty five years and there are still some spice containers in the cupboard from when I graduated high school, I still feel like I have a curfew. Go figure. You can go home.

Day Six – March 26, 2009 – Last Tourista Day.

And on the sixth day the Travel Gods granted her wish of finding her hotel with no wrong turns on her last night in Puerto Rico. Probably because she made so many wrong turns during the previous eight hours in Old San Juan.

Slept in late – 0830. The plan was to take pictures of me and Hercules at the beach and then leisurely walk through Viejo San Juan taking artistic and insightful photos of the brilliantly colored rainbow building I’d seen in postcards. I figured I could take pics at least that good.

As they say – “The best laid plans of mice and men, and aspiring photographers, often go awry”. Despite two maps and freeways that basically go east and west, I still spent over an hour and half lost and backtracking through neighborhoods. I found my way back to the gas station by Katie’s apartment, got oriented and headed east again.

Found Fort San Cristobal’s. It was hard to miss, a big rock fortress looming above the bank. It was impressive what could be built 400 years ago without computers and bulldozers. After oohing and aahing and taking pictures for other people’s groups I headed for Old Town. Got extremely lucky with a parking space.

By this time, I was tired and getting a headache and having what people like to call “stomach problems” that really have nothing to do with the belly and a lot to do with finding bathrooms quickly. The tourism board is considerate enough to have a trolley system that goes from the fort all the way to the cruise ship docks. So I hopped the trolley. Was too lazy to do much more than wander a couple of blocks.

It was pretty and decorative, but around corners you could see the signs of poverty and destitution. A woman sitting in a doorway with a jumbo Subway cup whose lower leg was an open oozing sore. We have the same kind of area here in the US, but it seems easier to drive by those parts of town.

I headed back to the hotel to relax and start packing the bed full of souvenirs that I accumulated in six days. Good thing I packed a collapsible duffle back. Mission accomplished, I went to bed early. This vacation stuff is exhausting.

Day Five - March 25, 2009

Another 13 hours on the go. Returned to the hotel in the dark (still haven’t gotten home in the daylight). Took some wrong turns, AGAIN. I am not even going to try to learn the route, going in circles can be a good lesson in patience.

The coqui frogs serenaded me again as Hercules and I returned to the hotel. Still no sightings.

I went on the sailboat, East Wind, today. A lot bigger than the Islena, more people. The sky was cloudier and windier. I enjoyed both trips for different reasons. I liked Arturo and Edwin better-more personal interaction with the tourists. But the sail boat has a different feel, more poetic, more rhythmic, more romantic and full of potential.

I made a personally huge decision and left my camera at home. It felt naked.

I was a lot better with the snorkel and mask. Didn’t swallow as much salt water as yesterday.
Our stops were both in the area of Icacos-the beach swim and a reef on the back of the island.
The food was the same and still delicious after all the swimming.

The waterproof camera experiment was a huge disappointment. I shot 50 pics. Lots of murky water, thumbs, and piecesof bread. I like maybe two. I need to realize –it’s not my SLR, the fish are fast, the current moved me in the opposite direction, the water was kind of murky, the sky was overcast for the second snorkel. So, all in all, I guess two is not bad.

After the boat returned I went in search of a shop where one of the crew got really cool earrings. Across from the entrance to El Yunque National Forest were the directions. Never found the store but ended up driving up to almost the top of the rainforest. And surprisingly, it rained. A nice change from the desert.








So exhausted and happy, I again fall asleep feeling the ocean waves under my bed.

Day Four - March 24, 2009

Eating dinner on a deck with the Coqui frog sounding like a bird for ambient music after an exhilarting day on the ocean. The patio is covered by a tree with gynormous leaves- they could be beet greens on steroids, palm fronds and a black sky scattered with stars. A light breeze from the ocean (sans dead fish smell) turns the overexposed skin to goosebumps.

I am going to expand my culinary experience tonight by trying a dish called pork mofongu. It just arrived in a giant wooden chalice. Note that it is dark, I read the menu by candlelight. But I am stilling going to pick out the cebollas (onions.-was afraid to ask what was in it beside plantains.) It’s pretty good once the onions are gone. The pork is coated with the plantains and fried. Probably not what my naturopathic doctor would approve of, but I worked off about 5000 calories today snorkeling in the ocean. Yes, me the girl who doesn’t like to put her face in the apartment complex pool swam in the ocean.

Katie and I spent the day aboard the Islena, a twin hulled powered catamaran, captained by the muy guapo Arturo and his padre Edwin. (Also good looking for the older cougar women)

Our first stop was Icacos, a little deserted island. Nice calm, shallow water for the neophytes like myself.

After paddling around for a while, we headed for Palomino Island where the bigger coral reef was.


So in full aqautic gear, looking like a dork, I set off in search of fish. And I found some. Maybe this was what Jacques Costeau felt when he was like eight. I swam with redbanded parrotfish, stoplight parrotfish, yellow jacktail, bar jack, blue chromis, porkfish, yellowtail snapper, foureye butterflyfish, hundreds of sergeant majors and yellow goatfish, bluehead wrasse and an ugly trunkfish chapin.






And so tired and crusted with sea salt, we headed
back to San Juan. We were greeted by the ferocious dock guard iguanas.

It was so great, I have booked tomorrow to snorkel again. This time I will be prepared. I have learned how to relax and breathe without hyperventilating. How to tell a good mask fix. And I am bringing a waterproof camera and some bread to entice the fishies to within the camera range.

Today was just indescribable . And challenging. Liberating, Exhilarating. And a conquering of some personal fears. That fear being in water without the boundaries of a pool where your feet can touch the bottom.

And as a side note, beware of iguanas who like to express their adrenaline junkie sides by racing across the freeways. Glad we had Hercules when we hit the 4 foot long monster at 65 miles per hour (. It’s been a while since I’ve had to note a kill by vehicle to my total (4 deer, a coyote, a duck and a rattlesnake (the snake was intentional).

And thus ended the day, exhausted, and sensing the rocking of the boat as I drifted to sleep.

Day Three – March 23, 2009 -Tortola and Virgin Gorda

Been up since 0330 to catch the early flight to Beef Island, where Cape Air lands on Tortola, British Virgin Islands. Cloudy and overcast. Reminded me A LOT of Juneau and the fantastic summers. The islands and southeast Alaska are all about cruise ship ports and tourist shops and a famous pub or saloon.

We flew in a in a Cessna 402 (more roomy than the C207’s I remember from Skag Air but this rotorchic prefers an A-star -although I’ll never turn down a flight.) Less waterfalls and a helluva lot warmer.

Landed at Beef Island, the airport for Tortola (attached to the big island with a bridge. Another similarity to southeast AK, Ketchikan Airport is on Gravina Island).

My de-virginized passport.


We were early for the ferry, but there were chickens to watch roam around the wharf. This kitty had the right idea – sleep when it’s this early.

Grabbed the John o Point Ferry over to Virgin Gorda (the Fat Virgin). Captain John sped us across the expanse of water and we were the first on the beach at The Baths. While KTO read her Dean Koontz book, I tested the water.

It was cold and the waves were stronger than I expected. Got knocked over a couple of times. Cut my foot and at one point was worried about not making it back to shore and breaking my hip again. But the blues and greens of the water was just like you see in the movies. Where the couples walk romantically in the twilight on the sandy beach. What they don't mention is how much work it is to walk on that sand. And how uncomfortable that sand in your shoes is. Not to mention if it gets in your shorts.

We had planned on spending the day at The Baths, but soon all of the snorkelers and sailboats came in and we decided to explore Road Town.

The ferry took us on the scenic route around Virgin Gorda back to Beef Island. Hopped a ride with Mike, a Cape Air pilot into Road Town. Had lunch at the obligatory “tourist pub” Pussers. Filled our bags with T-shirts, shot glasses and jewelry.

It was time to head back to the airport where we quickly scratched out a few postcards to stamp with the Queen’s postage while waiting for departure. So the lucky people whose addresses I remembered should get their cards in a couple of weeks.

Another return to the hotel in the dark. Don’t even remember what we did for dinner. I remember my feet hurting and being tired. And setting the alarm for 0630 for the drive to Fajardo and the Catamaran Snorkeling Cruise.

Monday, March 22, 2009 - Day Two –

This is the view from my balcony. Never did make it to the pool or the beach during the daylight.
It was nice that there were no bugs, I kept the glass door open while editing photos to warm up the room at night.

Let me introduce Hercules. Even though the Yaris was kind of cute and zippy, I decided that for my mid-life crisis trip to the islands, a Jeep would be more fun. So off came the top, map in hand and the mantra of “head west young women”. Katie and I were off the Rincon, a beach on the west side of the island. A few American songs on the radio. We didn’t make it to Rincon, but stopped at Isabella Beach. Only one little wrong turn down a one way and a little bump into a vehicle while backing up and being honked at.

The rock formations, the waves, the wind, the palm trees. It was wonderful. And best of all, unlike the beach in Mazatlan, there was no lingering scent of rotting fish flesh.

I was proud of myself, I only took a couple hundred photos. Thank god and Sony for digital cameras.

There was some interesting art and grafitti. So much artistic talent that goes to waste. If only that energy and passion could be harnessed.

And then there's the banyan trees. (I think that's what they are based on Wikipedia). Apparently the seeds of the ficus (fig) take root in a host tree and start growing over the structure of that tree.

So after a few hours of sitting on the beach, it was headed back to the hotel. A couple of wrong turns in the dark, but we made it. Big dinner at the hotel restaurant and planning Monday's travel plan. Stay tuned.....