tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78141891973690313202024-03-05T04:55:24.454-08:00There is a world elsewhere...experiences of a tramp abroadPrincess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-54554134498681414782011-08-10T15:14:00.000-07:002011-08-10T15:14:58.252-07:00Arrival in Montreal (Day 2)The second day of our latest and greatest roadtrip adventure saw the party of 10 split into two parts. My parents took the scenic route up Highway 2 through the islands of Lake Champlain, and everyone else took the more direct freeway into Canada. Through unplanned but excellent timing, we all met up at the rest area just north of the border, where we were confronted by this conundrum.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lH4uwrOJFlo/Tj3QqgRvPsI/AAAAAAAAAtA/Ic0JAtjgPu8/s1600/todrinkornottodrink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lH4uwrOJFlo/Tj3QqgRvPsI/AAAAAAAAAtA/Ic0JAtjgPu8/s320/todrinkornottodrink.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">It does seem rather counterintuitive, does it not? Confusingly played, Canada.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We found our way into </span></span><b style="font-weight: normal;">Montréal</b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> after taking the wrong highway/road/bridge a time or two, checked into the charmingly named </span></span><b style="font-weight: normal;">L'Auberge Hôtel de Montréal Manoir Ville-Marie, our little inn located inside an old post office. Definitely not a typical hotel, it leans toward a B&B with its mismatched furnishings and quaint vibe. Voilà, le bureau de poste.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="244" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ox0U77iEFi4/TkL-yDVe26I/AAAAAAAAAtM/PC5ojR4ukec/s320/hoteldeposte.jpg" width="320" /> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">In French, "auberge" means "inn." In my head, <i>auberge</i> and <i>aubergine</i> are interchangeable. Here is a picture of our eggplant.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We all got back in the car to go downtown. We passed this delightful place (Mr. Fix-it) with the most endearing sign I think I've ever seen: "</span></span><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="fr"><span class="hps">Nous restaurons</span> <span class="hps">tout -</span> <span class="hps">sauf</span> <span class="hps">les cœurs brisés</span><span class="">!</span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">" or "We restore everything - except broken hearts!" </span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-USgrOZR8BVU/TkL-HHe_O1I/AAAAAAAAAtE/Yxns7ZOgY94/s1600/monsieurfixit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-USgrOZR8BVU/TkL-HHe_O1I/AAAAAAAAAtE/Yxns7ZOgY94/s320/monsieurfixit.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Too bad the only needing fixing IS my heart...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">My sister-in-law did the driving. My brother did the navigating. I'm pretty sure neither of them particularly appreciated how entertaining I found this, but... storytime. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sr_wYVmgRGc/TkL-tOqnqSI/AAAAAAAAAtI/ekdXt0U1GgQ/s1600/montreallabyrinth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sr_wYVmgRGc/TkL-tOqnqSI/AAAAAAAAAtI/ekdXt0U1GgQ/s320/montreallabyrinth.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Steering-wheel-white-knuckle-clench-map-of-white-hot-rage</span><br />
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</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My SIL and I are the only people in the family with what might generously be referred to as a working knowledge of the French language. I have been to France twice, and although my comprehension isn't the greatest, I can generally get around on my own, read a fair bit, and order food. Naturally, French is the primary language of <span class="st">Québec. As my brother was trying to navigate the streets of </span><b style="font-weight: normal;">Montréal</b><span class="st">, he read the maps to his wife phonetically, and she corrected him under her breath by muttering the proper pronunciation of whichever streetname/attraction/exit he'd just named. This ongoing exchange (which lasted the entire stay in Canada) did not help us get anywhere faster, but it sure was funny from the backseat. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div></div>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-54183835531697960022011-06-11T23:59:00.000-07:002011-06-11T23:59:04.826-07:00Allez poutine!I have never been to French Canada before. Also, I get as excited about trying local food as my brother does about local beer. In Québec, naturally I was all about poutine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nEq2W4trDZY/TfRduxJakGI/AAAAAAAAAqY/zNPgVeFWYnM/s1600/yasoldme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nEq2W4trDZY/TfRduxJakGI/AAAAAAAAAqY/zNPgVeFWYnM/s320/yasoldme.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really... what could be better? Poutine and beer!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">For the uninitiated: poutine is French fries served with heaps of cheese curds and brown gravy (and occasionally additional toppings, such as smoked meat for my brother in Montréal). It's served everywhere from restaurants to street carts, and I think it's delightful. </span></div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVHmhzdLhkmj3TsEdT5cPo7abVQ8F6t3m4oXAbXid2-eIswIfY7PRY6Xd7A1eHIaZbz0w0QyZXBczjie2Jv0tlE6RoAMO7vE7BAPQZx4EFveRqbnNX1yaHToH5jAOlgeqdKZheFSiOYLo/s1600/gityerfaceinnit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVHmhzdLhkmj3TsEdT5cPo7abVQ8F6t3m4oXAbXid2-eIswIfY7PRY6Xd7A1eHIaZbz0w0QyZXBczjie2Jv0tlE6RoAMO7vE7BAPQZx4EFveRqbnNX1yaHToH5jAOlgeqdKZheFSiOYLo/s320/gityerfaceinnit.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lil brother ready to chow down on poutine with smoked meat<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">This one was special because we tried it at Maison du Bifthèque Main Deli in Montréal. The city is famous for its Hebraic delis, or charcuteries. Some of us quite literally ate piles of smoked meat for dinner, others sandwiches, and Isaac had it with poutine. </span></div></div></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VsmFFoPwrr8/TfRc2DNY1CI/AAAAAAAAAqM/qFEDT3lRWOQ/s1600/poutinequeen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VsmFFoPwrr8/TfRc2DNY1CI/AAAAAAAAAqM/qFEDT3lRWOQ/s320/poutinequeen.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So I was really excited. Don't judge.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">It may be 5000kcal per serving (or any other number someone has made up to scare people), but I climbed to the top of a waterfall for this. A big waterfall. </span> </div></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TmrWzCVw_dM/TfRc2HMa1AI/AAAAAAAAAqU/VZSF6YUrt9I/s1600/alittlemess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TmrWzCVw_dM/TfRc2HMa1AI/AAAAAAAAAqU/VZSF6YUrt9I/s320/alittlemess.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poutine at the top of <a href="http://www.sepaq.com/ct/pcm/index.dot?language_id=1">Chute-Montmorency</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Certainly not the only thing we ate in Québec, but I think it deserves a post of its own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">If you find yourself curious about other culinary bastardizations in French Canada, I recommend <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/EpicMealTime">EpicMealTime</a>. Hilarious, based in Montréal and pretty much awesome in every way.</span></div>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-22129531136903904002011-06-08T22:04:00.000-07:002011-06-08T22:07:17.249-07:00Vermont (Day 1)The first day of my glorious, whirlwind North American adventure deposited my brother and me in Burlington, Vermont. We flew in on a plane full of marathoners ready to run the Vermont City Marathon, and we were nonplussed because, after all, we were awake at ungodly hours sitting on the floor of JFK Intl., hoping that the loudspeaker would just stop squawking. Not to mention the fact that running anything more than five miles sounds like torture to me.<br />
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We were collected by my college friend and co-wreaker-of-havoc from my Hawaii/NZ trip, Mel. Sam and I were both in the sleep-deprived travel haze, so Mel took us downtown and fed us lunch at a little deli. It's a bad state to be in, because I turn into a little robot and pretty much do what I'm told, as long as it doesn't require thinking or strenuous activity on my part. Then we walked the flooded shores of Lake Champlain (no sign of Champ) and Mel took us on a driving tour of Shelburne Farms until it was time to...<br />
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WATCH BARCELONA DESTORY MANCHESTER UNITED IN THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL!!!!<br />
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We found an Irish pub stuffed to the gills with people decked out in jerseys and scarves (and not just clothing supporting FCB and MUFC either, but Welsh and Portuguese and all other sorts). We drank some beer, harassed the local Man U fans, and I screamed until my voice was hoarse. Barcelona 3-Manchester United 1. <br />
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Just the way I like it. :)<br />
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Eventually the family showed up and we had dinner together at the <a href="http://www.vermontbrewery.com/">Vermont Pub & Brewery</a>, which is the place that my brother and the internets tell me black IPA was invented. Delicious beer, delicious food.<br />
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After dinner we took the ferry across Lake Champlain to New York. It was cold and a little misty and we were not attacked by pirates (still no sign of Champ). We stayed in Plattsburgh, New York. We may or may not have bounced on the beds.<br />
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*I don't have pictures of this day because Sam hoarded the camera and we're both dumb when we're tired k.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-4256383491271153062011-05-28T04:31:00.000-07:002011-05-28T04:31:33.164-07:00Airport lounges are great for people watchingI am sitting in JFK International right now. It's 4:30am Oregon time.<br />
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I have decided that I am sufficiently well-traveled by now to say that I hate flying east. I think it's stupid when you board a red-eye and less than five hours later, your obnoxious seatmate is melting your retinas because apparently he just has to peer into the murky grey depths of Hudson<br />
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I get to be cranky. I had four hours of interrupted, creaky sleep in the middle seat and they didn't feed me.<br />
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My brother and I were deposited at the airport last night by the fabulous B of <a href="http://dbography.blogspot.com/">DB Photography</a>, but only after an evening spent at my favorite Portland biercafé, <a href="http://belmont-station.com/">Belmont Station</a>. As a friend once commented, "It's a little overwhelming at first, then you accept it and sink into giddy joy." Indeed. The beer there is awesome. <br />
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Our family vacation this year is to collect my sister from her school near Toronto and toodle around the east coast together for a few days. We are convening in Vermont today and crossing the border tomorrow. It will be my first time in Québec. I can't wait to try my French out on people again... it's been nearly two years. I'm hoping that I get enough time every day to blog this trip on the fly, but then, I realize I'm notoriously horrible at doing that. I blame my perfectionist nature.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-6547814427432566062011-04-25T00:00:00.000-07:002011-04-25T00:23:18.103-07:00Lest we forget. ANZAC Day, Monday 25 April.<div class="MsoNormal"><i>They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal">-- from Laurence Binyon’s “For the Fallen”</div><br />
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ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. The soldiers in those forces quickly became known as ANZACs, and the pride they took in that name endures to this day.<br />
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Why is this day special to Australians? <br />
<h3><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=7814189197369031320&postID=654781442743256606" id="why" name="why"></a><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></h3>When war broke out in 1914, Australia had been a federal commonwealth for only 13 years. The new national government was eager to establish its reputation among the nations of the world. In 1915 Australian and New Zealand soldiers formed part of the allied expedition that set out to capture the Gallipoli peninsula in order to open the Dardanelles to the allied navies. The ultimate objective was to capture Constantinople (now Istanbul in Turkey), the capital of the Ottoman Empire, an ally of Germany.<br />
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The Australian and New Zealand forces landed on Gallipoli on 25 April, meeting fierce resistance from the Ottoman Turkish defenders. What had been planned as a bold stroke to knock Turkey out of the war quickly became a stalemate, and the campaign dragged on for eight months. At the end of 1915 the allied forces were evacuated, after both sides had suffered heavy casualties and endured great hardships. Over 8,000 Australian soldiers had been killed. News of the landing on Gallipoli had made a profound impact on Australians at home, and 25 April soon became the day on which Australians remembered the sacrifice of those who had died in the war.<br />
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Although the Gallipoli campaign failed in its military objectives, the Australian and New Zealand actions during the campaign left us all a powerful legacy. The creation of what became known as the “ANZAC legend” became an important part of the identity of both nations, shaping the ways they viewed both their past and their future.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Borrowed from <a href="http://www.awm.gov.au/commemoration/anzac/anzac-tradition/">Australian War Memorial</a>)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This video is one of my favorite songs. It tells the story of the Gallipoli campaign from a survivor's point of view... heartbreaking and poignant. Aussie John Williamson does this version.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/E22gszljklc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These photos are from my own trip to Australia last summer. The Great War may be far from living memory, but it left its mark. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AEqj7n5ljAg/TbUPnDgDhbI/AAAAAAAAAp4/w5vypIjN-eQ/s1600/nurseandANZAC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AEqj7n5ljAg/TbUPnDgDhbI/AAAAAAAAAp4/w5vypIjN-eQ/s320/nurseandANZAC.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">WWI nurse and wounded soldier monument in Brisbane</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1-m34G7SqE/TbUQYqQ5KYI/AAAAAAAAAp8/IgjQwieYAmQ/s1600/walkingstickpalm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1-m34G7SqE/TbUQYqQ5KYI/AAAAAAAAAp8/IgjQwieYAmQ/s320/walkingstickpalm.jpg" width="219" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Walking stick palms in Queensland's Tamborine Rainforest. So called because of their size and the handy root bulb. Amputees would uproot these palms, strip off the leaves and use them as walking sticks after returning home from the war. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So this 25th April, I'm raising a beer to the fallen sons of our greatest allies, so 'when the young people ask "what are they marching for?",' these men will not be forgotten heroes of a forgotten war.We remember not only those who fought at Gallipoli, but all ANZACs.</div>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-4734658699078293482011-02-02T21:34:00.000-08:002011-02-02T21:44:48.106-08:00Have the doorman let you inIt's difficult to maintain a blog and go to nursing school at the same time, but due to the relative mellowness of this term, I'm planning to infuse this place with some fresh content. This means, of course, that I intend to wrap up the diary of my 2008 Europe trip, write up my 2009 Europe adventures, and then blog about my Australian summer. Ambitious, yes, but only because going through the pictures takes time.<br /><br />Speaking of Australia, between the floods of southern Queensland in January and the ridiculously massive Cyclone Yasi that just tore through northern Queensland today, the state is in a world of hurt right now. If there's anything I know about Aussies, it is that they are resilient, but my thoughts are with them. Aus has a special place in my heart.<br /><br />Fun fact: Oregon and Queensland became states the same year, 1859.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-67772746332433766072010-12-30T01:11:00.000-08:002010-12-30T01:52:49.230-08:00Time is the fire in which we burn<span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >...as a wise man (Delmore Schwartz) once said.<br /><br />I keep a list of stuff I want to do before I die. It helps keep me motivated and out of the rut I find myself in sometimes. It was a really busy year for me thanks to nursing school, so I'm proud of what I was able to experience this year. My brother and sister and I had planned to go to Ireland in the summer and Australia just sort of happened instead, which was absolutely thrilling and the highlight of my year. These are the list items I accomplished in 2010.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">4. Snorkel the Great Barrier Reef (Cairns Australia, 08/14/10)<br /><br /></span></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TRxQJjysELI/AAAAAAAAAoo/3uyCJKPUF0A/s1600/michaelmascay.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TRxQJjysELI/AAAAAAAAAoo/3uyCJKPUF0A/s400/michaelmascay.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556404165425238194" border="0" /></a><br />We were too busy snorkelling and soaking up the sun to bother much with cameras on the reef trip, not to mention it was a little windy and we sacrificed a towel to the Coral Sea, but I got this shot of our first destination: Michaelmas Cay. Lovely little sand island, but it's a bird refuge so the boats anchor just offshore and you can swim in if you like. I did for a tiny moment to adjust my fins, but it smelt like bird poo and the water was feathery, so back out to the reef for me.<br /><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">29. Volunteer at a USO or at a VA hospital (June/July 2010)<br /></span>Technically, it wasn't really volunteering, but I think it counts. I learned more than I expected.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">32. Go ice-skating (Portland OR, 12/15/10)<br /></span>It's really sad I've never done this before, but my very good friend took pity on me and we went out on a "Holidate" (get it?) and I skated for two hours without ever falling down. Darn straight I just high-fived myself!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">53. Jump off a waterfall (Columbia Gorge OR, 09/09/10)<br /></span>My Dutch friend came to town on her trip around the world. I took her on a hike (in the rain, don't worry, we brought beer) in the beautiful Columbia Gorge and convinced her and two other poor shivering hikers to jump off a waterfall with me. We chose the 15-foot smaller waterfall because we didn't wish to die. Worth the icy water. She still has all the pictures.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">92. Participate in a flash mob event (Portland OR, 12/04/10)</span><br />Simple, really, meet a bunch of strangers, do something random and crazy in public together, then disappear. We sang carols and did a 5-minute freeze one Saturday at a mall. Next you'll see me gluing fake eyeballs on trees. Or something.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">113. Learn to sandboard (Moreton Island Australia/Florence OR)<br /><br /></span></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TRxVcWU8beI/AAAAAAAAAow/NOuuKhyYxl4/s1600/lockandloadboys.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TRxVcWU8beI/AAAAAAAAAow/NOuuKhyYxl4/s400/lockandloadboys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556409985786473954" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Obviously a work in progress, but I discovered the awesomeness that is sandboarding in Australia and was ecstatic when I learned I can do it on pretty much any dune anywhere. Took my Dutchie sandboarding in Florence in September, then dragged my family in November (wouldn't recommend it after rain...the sand is sticky and you go slow and fall harder). My parents tried it. For the win!<br /><br />One goal I know I'm crossing off in 2011 is #22: Graduate nursing school. Can't wait! :)<br /></span>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-16032410037742127712010-09-21T20:46:00.000-07:002010-09-21T21:04:06.953-07:00When people say they want to eat your baby, beware.Australians really don't mess around with naming things. They call it like it is, even when it comes to their food labels. Or should I say <span style="font-style: italic;">especially</span> when it comes to food? We went grocery shopping for lunch one afternoon and found tasty cheese, extra tasty cheese, and Australia's tastiest cheese. When faced with choices such as these, how is one to choose?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TJl9XLA0zqI/AAAAAAAAAoc/ITgZdbKZ2pQ/s1600/tastycheese.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TJl9XLA0zqI/AAAAAAAAAoc/ITgZdbKZ2pQ/s400/tastycheese.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519580655365967522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Tasty cheese... or extra tasty cheese? </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TJl8hMCNkpI/AAAAAAAAAoE/zcQvqDKfcTY/s1600/tastiestcheese.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TJl8hMCNkpI/AAAAAAAAAoE/zcQvqDKfcTY/s400/tastiestcheese.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519579727927284370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Australia's tastiest cheese!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">All the cheese we tasted was delicious, by the way. I think it was mostly aged (white) cheddar.<br /><br />They also have strange taste in candy there. When I'm craving a sweet snack, the first thing I grab is my handy dandy bag of squirty crazy babies. Or my jelly babies. We thought it was hilarious, but then, we readily admit that our humor is a little twisted.<br /><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TJl8iJf0s0I/AAAAAAAAAoU/N1AuHgL6Jb0/s1600/crazybabycandy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TJl8iJf0s0I/AAAAAAAAAoU/N1AuHgL6Jb0/s400/crazybabycandy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519579744426046274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Ha! they eat babies in Australia! </span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbFvAK9hqZSuVKGvnYm7glZ9SNqJ_KMt_fIuX1BfEIuA3fFw27acOve170uqqs-Ycii-XEETs0qBmmJafuNdro1Oe3oaUaRjjhLwVLb-nYdB6vFL2GpqL0MRXKBz8ln95_3ALShkFB7Cw/s1600/blackbabycandy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbFvAK9hqZSuVKGvnYm7glZ9SNqJ_KMt_fIuX1BfEIuA3fFw27acOve170uqqs-Ycii-XEETs0qBmmJafuNdro1Oe3oaUaRjjhLwVLb-nYdB6vFL2GpqL0MRXKBz8ln95_3ALShkFB7Cw/s400/blackbabycandy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519579472801704002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Little black babies and Sambo</span><br /><br /></div>Of course, if the fruity babies aren't your favorite, you can always chow down on some chewy black babies. Mmmmmm.<br /><br />More on funny food later.<br /><br />I could really go for a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tim_Tam">TimTam</a> or a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lamington">Lamington</a> right now.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-84953044289864626982010-09-04T20:52:00.000-07:002010-09-04T22:49:10.337-07:00West coast represent, now put your hands up<span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:130%;" >It’s hard to go from finals to Australia back to studying in less than four weeks. Not the Australia part… the return to the head games of nursing school. Sometimes, when I find a place that is special to me, I get homesick for it after I leave. I say this at risk of sounding like I would rather be anywhere else in the world at any given time, but the wanderlust is a part of my soul and I fell in love with Australia. It’s such a lovely, fascinating, wild country. <o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:130%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">I miss the gum trees and the weird, dangerous animals. I miss TimTams and Lamingtons and ginger beer and Vegemite. I miss the obvious system of naming things (examples of dangerous snakes to watch out for: the green tree snake (green and lives in trees) and the red-bellied black snake (black with a red belly, go figure)). I miss being called “lovely” and “sweets” and “doll.”</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">I miss the rainforests and the clear blue water and the accents.</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TIMVD3-ECVI/AAAAAAAAAns/oo9AsH3gaZU/s1600/oldgumtree.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TIMVD3-ECVI/AAAAAAAAAns/oo9AsH3gaZU/s400/oldgumtree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513273525139671378" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Gum tree in Queensland's Tamborine Rainforest</span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">Once upon a time, I was not a fan of the music of Katy Perry. Bear with me, for a moment. The average Australian has no idea where Oregon is. When they ask where you’re from, they prefer you to be more specific than “I’m American” in the unlikely event that you’re from either California or New York. We found that the handiest description is “the state just north of California*,” since everyone know where that is, and they usually respond with “ohhhhhh… west coast!” Whereupon we teach them the gangsta sign for west coast and the Katy Perry song “California Gurls” comes on the radio. On our trip to Moreton Island, the scenario I have just described took place, and when our tour guide’s iPod shuffled to California Gurls, he took special pride in pointing it out to us. I like to think that from now on, when that song plays, the Aussies I met will think of me. Katy Perry says we're unforgettable. Not that I'm from Cali, but I did live there for awhile...</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TIMVDX_unNI/AAAAAAAAAnk/rY-YDLkuhgo/s1600/learntowalkfreal.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TIMVDX_unNI/AAAAAAAAAnk/rY-YDLkuhgo/s400/learntowalkfreal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513273516556721362" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Bridge in Brisbane</span><br /></p> <p style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">*Once in awhile, we’d just ask if they’d ever played the computer game Oregon Trail, and usually someone had heard of it. Or we’d talk about cowboys and Indians and the gold rush.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-88088428216784129852010-09-01T17:30:00.000-07:002010-09-01T17:55:00.570-07:00Sand toboganning in The DesertOne of my favorite days in Australia was a trip to Moreton Island off the coast near Brisbane. It's the second largest sand island in the world and home to the largest free-standing sand dunes. Among the many things we did that day was sandboarding (like snowboarding, but on sand dunes) and sand toboganning in "The Desert."<br /><br />This video is my spectacular wipeout*, followed by my little brother's. Little sister was nice enough to video and laugh hysterically.<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzYpq_hDX_a8eUzMmHOo7i7Ygg8Xalj29joUESVmYolx2AeSdvCECUDlDVed_HVNX1zBiSC5HCwx2MhXkoZ8Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />*Doesn't hurt... SO MUCH FUN. Seriously. Go do this immediately.<br /><br />Headfirst gets you down the fastest, but you can ride sitting like a normal toboggan, or even double.<br /><br />Stand up boards take the most skill. Our guide, Josh, told us "Put 40 percent of your weight on the front foot and 60 on the back" and after we all wiped out over and over, his critique was "I told you 60-40. You're like, 100 on the back foot. Of course you're falling down." It was hysterical.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-85403394040934930742010-08-28T14:55:00.000-07:002010-09-01T17:44:01.378-07:00Abridged Schedule of Events in the Land of OzDay 1/2: Day of flights from hell (PDX-LAX-Auckland-Brisbane)<br />Day 3: Raining in Brissie. Botanical Gardens, shopping.<br />Day 4: Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary, Brisbane Art Gallery<br />Day 5: Flight to Cairns<br />Day 6: Sunbathing. Shopping. Bats in trees.<br />Day 7: Fitzroy Island... hiking and swimming on the coral beaches of paradise<br />Day 8: Great Barrier Reef trip on the Passions of Paradise catamaran. Mind blown.<br />Day 9: Markets, bungy jumping at AJ Hackett Cairns - 50 meters. Backwards.<br />Day 10: Sleeping in, shopping, sunbathing<br />Day 11: Trinity Beach north of Cairns, party party party<br />Day 12: Hanging out with new friends at hostel, return to Brisbane<br />Day 13: Walking tour of dowtown Brisbane, Southbank and Kangaroo Point, pub crawl<br />Day 14: Friends, pub crawl<br />Day 15: Dinner with Sam's friends<br />Day 16: Tamborine rainforest trip + beer, cheese and wine tasting<br />Day 17: Brisbane Museum<br />Day 18: Moreton Island trip + FWDing, <a href="http://aworldelsewhere.blogspot.com/2010/09/sand-toboganning-in-desert.html">sandboarding</a> and snorkelling shipwrecks<br />Day 19: Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast<br />Day 20/21: Day of flights from hell.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-91369033596434100712010-08-07T01:27:00.001-07:002010-08-07T01:28:49.237-07:00Going to Oz to see the Wizard about a brainOff to Queensland, Australia for a blissful three weeks!<br /><br />Maybe I'll send you a didgeridoo.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-56398061961063346842010-07-10T14:33:00.000-07:002010-07-10T14:45:31.053-07:00It's the most wonderful time of the yearPre-final article round-up time. Click the links. They are funny. And short.<br /><br />Pulpo Paul was correct in predicting the Germans would beat Uruguay to take third place (3-2 final), but it was an entertaining match and the Uruguayans led for a fair portion. <a href="http://alloffbeat.tumblr.com/post/792853768/the-octopus-interference">How Paul the Octopus ruined Germany's Cup dream.</a><br /><br />In regard to the absurd number of handballs that have changed results this cup, <a href="http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/07/10/if-fifa-applied-sharia-law/">what would happen if FIFA applied Sharia law</a>. In my opinion, France would not have been in the Cup at all but for Henry's double handball to send them through over Ireland, but I don't think Suarez's handball against Ghana would be talked about still had Gyan put away his penalty instead of bouncing it off the bar. To be fair to Suarez, any other professional in his place would have done exactly as he did.<br /><br />Rafael van der Vaart of the Netherlands reflects on his teammate Wesley Sneijder's success this Cup. <a href="http://g.sports.yahoo.com/soccer/world-cup/blog/dirty-tackle/post/Van-der-Vaart-thinks-Sneijder-has-gold-vuvuzela-?urn=sow,255097">"I suspect he (Sneijder) has a gold vuvuzela in his pants." </a><br /><br />Finally, an article that pretty much describes <a href="http://soccernet.espn.go.com/world-cup/columns/story/_/id/5367800/ce/us/why-rooting-spain?cc=5901&ver=us">why I'm supporting Spain over Holland</a> for the final, even though I love them both. La Furia Roja, Pulpo Paul thinks you have what it takes and so do I.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-17646906714011533792010-07-07T23:04:00.000-07:002010-07-08T00:49:41.244-07:00vuvuzela feverSchool break came just in time for the World Cup semifinals... the last day of break is the final. Spain and the Netherlands are playing for the title. Not only do I adore both teams, but there will be a new World Cup Champion. There have been only 7 winners in 18 cups. I love the World Cup. My life is consumed by soccer for 64 games of bliss. I watch it in class. I watch it in pubs. I watch it at hospital. It is my heart.<br /><br />And I want a <a href="http://www.vuvuzela-time.co.uk/www.aworldelsewhere.blogspot.com">vuvuzela.</a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TDWCcMMDgOI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/5AkiXJU4syI/s1600/vuvuzela.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 189px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/TDWCcMMDgOI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/5AkiXJU4syI/s400/vuvuzela.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491438741467922658" border="0" /></a>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-61691871553953676212010-04-20T16:22:00.000-07:002010-04-20T16:35:54.026-07:00Hey look! I'm trendy!Dear blog traffic,<br /><br />If you got here by googling "Sergio Ramos," I feel that your needs could be better served by clicking the link on the right under "footy." Or just go here: <a href="http://www.kickette.com/">Kickette.com</a>. Stalk away, my darlings. :)<br /><br />I swear I referenced a picture Sergio only once. Yoann Gourcuff is my footballer du jour. On that note, Sergio and Joan say hello. (AP)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S846PmFoZiI/AAAAAAAAAmw/fGn9mjOh-XE/s1600/capdeyramos.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S846PmFoZiI/AAAAAAAAAmw/fGn9mjOh-XE/s400/capdeyramos.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462367437643605538" border="0" /></a>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-77333523780806024362010-04-17T16:29:00.001-07:002010-04-17T17:06:37.382-07:00Americana: Life in ColorI inherited my wanderlust from my parents. My dad loves to hike and explore nature for hours on end, and while my mom enjoys that, she usually leans more toward educational/historical attractions. Naturally, my family loves to roadtrip since everybody gets a little piece of their favorite activity.<br /><br />Our last family roadtrip was in the summer of 2007. My mom and youngest siblings drove from Oregon to Wisconsin to collect my middle sister from school, then headed south. My dad, brother and I flew into Ohio to meet them. We drove all the way to like the third Florida Key and back to Oregon (9000 miles, if you were counting). To my family, this is not crazy. This is Adventure. Of course, if you were to ask them what it's like to travel with five of their six children, plus a friend of my sister's, they would tell you it's annoying. I'm pretty sure that's a lie, though, cuz I'm super-fun. Obviously. Especially in constricted living quarters.<br /><br />Here's a few of my favorite pictures from the trip.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetBJoJ67tPtQ-MY9pVq5EomrYq1pQnYGShmf0-iqPM_Pc1XtUnD-WHq_KMDo6yURX8-HWTyJNPxc6A8udMedOPWSquRHj7blTf0_cwwXSRkWhPTGgZC9nk0rY3mL84FmiiMkA0cVn1AAS/s1600/lifeontheedge.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetBJoJ67tPtQ-MY9pVq5EomrYq1pQnYGShmf0-iqPM_Pc1XtUnD-WHq_KMDo6yURX8-HWTyJNPxc6A8udMedOPWSquRHj7blTf0_cwwXSRkWhPTGgZC9nk0rY3mL84FmiiMkA0cVn1AAS/s320/lifeontheedge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461259209489347810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Hannah and Sam playing on the edge of the Cherohala Skyway in North Carolina<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S8pKUrqVbAI/AAAAAAAAAmY/lSXvMDSD8U0/s1600/stonylady.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S8pKUrqVbAI/AAAAAAAAAmY/lSXvMDSD8U0/s320/stonylady.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461259217318276098" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Imposing lady figure on some important building in Savannah, Georgia<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S8pKU-XxlwI/AAAAAAAAAmg/__ziIsm9Mj8/s1600/thetouchofdestiny.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S8pKU-XxlwI/AAAAAAAAAmg/__ziIsm9Mj8/s320/thetouchofdestiny.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461259222340704002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">For those of you familiar with <span style="font-style: italic;">Pirates of the Caribbean</span>, this is my sister recreating the scene in which Tia Dalma casts the crustacean claws to divine the location of the Flying Dutchman. "A touch... of DESTINY!"<br /><br />We were in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, eating bouillabaisse and other cajun delights.<br /><br /></span><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S8pMQ0pVScI/AAAAAAAAAmo/o6UXeo7kDz4/s1600/hickorydickorydock.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 212px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S8pMQ0pVScI/AAAAAAAAAmo/o6UXeo7kDz4/s400/hickorydickorydock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461261350033770946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">A fishing pier in Ft. de Soto, Florida. My first sugar sand beach. :)<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJcQruxXWf0o2WeQ7xn1YIJIpyIAYXXkRNg-9KSWPMpHdSLIzHKEMeUEnpOFns4b99iaoKXCuAbCWKC656rHjRTh9QVXFY-p9O1LclefjvxgEM4tFiHG30AaDjCZ75BTGler3aQWvzsJ6/s1600/allcometumblingdown.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJcQruxXWf0o2WeQ7xn1YIJIpyIAYXXkRNg-9KSWPMpHdSLIzHKEMeUEnpOFns4b99iaoKXCuAbCWKC656rHjRTh9QVXFY-p9O1LclefjvxgEM4tFiHG30AaDjCZ75BTGler3aQWvzsJ6/s320/allcometumblingdown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461259196961399810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">The sibs in front of a piece of the Berlin wall in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Home to the huge concrete Jesus.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I love going places. I hate being trapped in the city by nursing school. Most of the time. Nursing school is exciting. :)</span><br /></div></div>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-62237647626826502052010-04-13T00:43:00.000-07:002010-04-13T00:52:48.862-07:00This program is brought to you by caffeine and the voices in my headI'm down to the last two weeks of my first semester of nursing school. It's my poor excuse for my lack of posting, but if you're really curious about what my life is like now, go check out my parallel universe at <a href="http://la-futbolista.blogspot.com/">http://la-futbolista.blogspot.com/</a>. I'm keeping the nursing school stuff separate for all of you who don't like blood, needles, and stories about poop and crazy people... as well as for me, because sometimes I just need a happy place.<br /><br />Please excuse me while I go study my brains out.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-43787828263850954052010-03-27T21:53:00.000-07:002010-03-27T22:09:42.800-07:00My life is not the movies.I watched <span style="font-style: italic;">Taken</span> for the first time last night. It was intense, so I'm glad I didn't watch it before my trip to France last summer, and as it was, pre-departure conversations went like this:<br /><br />"You're going where? Paris? OMG YOU'RE GONNA GET TAKEN!"<br /><br />Not that I get into taxis with strangers. Or even take taxis, for that matter.<br /><br />More ironic is the U2 European tour connection. If you've seen the movie, you know that the two girls who are taken headed to Europe to follow U2 on tour for the summer. When I was in Barcelona, we couldn't go into Camp Nou (FC Barcelona's soccer stadium) because U2 was warming up for a concert. We took some pictures with some cute Italian guys, but nothing too wild.<br /><br />We traveled smart ...most of the time. We didn't get taken.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-56278119250378252412010-03-20T11:51:00.000-07:002010-03-21T12:04:46.450-07:00oh, the places you ...should be... going!Lately, no one lets me talk about my trips except to beg for my secrets. Which is fine. Everyone should travel!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S6Ub954KmnI/AAAAAAAAAl4/b0HLv9uuNxA/s1600-h/whithershallwewander.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 243px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S6Ub954KmnI/AAAAAAAAAl4/b0HLv9uuNxA/s320/whithershallwewander.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450793674324220530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Brussels: the center of the universe<br /></span></div><br /><br />How I Traveled Europe (relatively) Cheaply:<br /><br /><ol><li>Buy a EuRail pass!</li><li>Don't eat out a lot... shop at grocery stores. I found a 3€ bottle of wine that was sold for 16€ in a restaurant.<br /></li><li>Stay with friends if you have them conveniently located, otherwise hostels or small hotels are your best bet.</li><li>Skip the major tourist attractions if you're not absolutely dying to go... in Paris, I went to the Louvre but climbed up Montmartre for a view instead of the Eiffel Tower.</li><li>Allow spontaneity. The best times are rarely planned.</li><li>If you get the opportunity to go someplace, take it.<br /></li></ol><br />My uncle was recently nonplussed when I confessed I did not know the price of beer in Belgium.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-9275717583561812692010-03-04T21:32:00.000-08:002010-03-04T21:47:18.713-08:00I can unscrew the starsIt's spring break!<br /><br />Alas, there will be none of this.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S5CZsvePZ1I/AAAAAAAAAlo/JTwjikdRlt4/s1600-h/thebeerandthebeach.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S5CZsvePZ1I/AAAAAAAAAlo/JTwjikdRlt4/s320/thebeerandthebeach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445020943427528530" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">La Playa Badalona, Barcelona</span><br /><br /></div><br />I'll be building up my brain muscles instead. Such is the life of the nursing student.<br /><br /><br />So... about those beers, we bought them in a little shop while we were walking to the beach, but it was so hot (July in Spain, go figure) that the beers were warm by the time we got there. In less than 10 minutes. Gross.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-70865534912414121432010-02-09T22:40:00.000-08:002010-03-02T10:58:35.531-08:00Caffeine Addict<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link style="font-family: georgia;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CMeginha%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link style="font-family: georgia;" rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CMeginha%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link style="font-family: georgia;" rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CMeginha%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> 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font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">Coffee around the World</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">USA</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">They call coffee “Finnish plasma,” therefore, it must be in my blood. I remember being a little girl and staring in fascination at my dad’s morning mug, wondering when I’d be old enough to drink it. When my parents let me have my own cup of coffee, I was stubborn enough to forego milk and sugar and drink it black, just like my dad. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I became a barista just after turning 17, and I spent the next three years of life honing my coffee snobbery to a fine point. It helped having been raised in the Pacific Northwest, birthplace to Starbucks and all its caffeine competitors.</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">My parents owned an independent coffee shop for awhile, and they sold beans from a micro-roaster in Boise, ID, whose personal mission was to make sure the quality of their coffee matched their quality of service</span>. <a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.dawsontaylor.com/">Dawson Taylor</a> <span style="font-family:georgia;">has the best coffee I’ve ever tasted in this country. The end. </span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">One thing I’ve discovered while exploring is that no matter the prevalence of coffee in a nation’s culture, it will probably never reach the to-go paper cup status it is in America. Everywhere else I’ve been, even if they don’t drink that much of it, it’s usually a sit-down affair.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">ITALY</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">Haven’t spent that much time in Italy (yet), but espresso bars make my heart go pitter-pat. In the train station in Milan, men in pin-striped business suits stood around the espresso bar counters, ignoring their morning newspapers and the pigeons flapping overhead under the lofty ceiling, gesticulating and chattering and sipping delicately out of tiny white cups full of rich, dark deliciousness. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">On the train, a man in an apron pushed a cappuccino cart up and down the narrow aisle, I tested my barista (pronounced bah-</span><i style="font-family: georgia;">ree</i><span style="font-family:georgia;">-sta, none of that short </span><i style="font-family: georgia;">I</i><span style="font-family:georgia;"> business) lingo on him because I was desperate for a caffeine fix. It worked! However, should you find yourself attempting rail travel in Italy, go to the train station espresso bars. The coffee is much better.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S3JVcwolHfI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/wdlBWTla0Go/s1600-h/cuppa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 304px; height: 317px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S3JVcwolHfI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/wdlBWTla0Go/s320/cuppa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436501652769414642" border="0" /></a></p><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">NETHERLANDS</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I love Holland. I spent a few days in Amsterdam and then wandered up north to visit a friend and spend several rather glorious days with her.<span style=""> </span>In my experience, Dutch hospitality is “would you like something to drink?” upon moments of meeting. If it’s after<span style=""> </span>11am, this means beer. If it’s still morning, it means cappuccino. Cappuccino is a rather loose term here, unlike Italian beverages of mostly espresso and milk foam, Dutch cappuccinos are more like an American latte. Served in a huge cup with plenty of raw sugar to stir in, they are one of the best reasons to go out in grey, drizzly mornings. Sometimes you even get a <i style="">koekje.</i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Note: Dutch purveyors of delightful caffeinated beverages should not be confused with the more distinctive "coffee shops", distinguishable in passing by the delicate aroma of marijuana lingering oppressively in the air.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S3JV23TfviI/AAAAAAAAAlY/80ldBn03uUo/s1600-h/bigcup.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S3JV23TfviI/AAAAAAAAAlY/80ldBn03uUo/s320/bigcup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436502101236629026" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">ENGLAND</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I just drank tea. And beer and cider. : )
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<br /></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">FRANCE</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">While I drank quite a lot of coffee in France, I suspect my hosts took pity on me and mostly just made it for me.<span style=""> </span>The French have all the fancy liqueurs to put it, though. My favorite was served at the wedding I attended. At first, the waiters came around with their fancy little pots and tiny paper tubes of sugar. They caught on quickly though, and soon brought out the big one. I was seated at a table full of young adults, furthest from the kitchen, and we were seeking a solution to the wine we’d already consumed and we were getting ready to dance the night away. It was bitter, hot and pungent. It was perfect.
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<br /></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">NEW ZEALAND</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I don’t remember how much coffee the Kiwis consume, or what’s special about theirs, apart from my first morning in New Zealand. We were taken to a McDonalds Café for breakfast (who said anything about trying new things??) where there was plenty of American-style breakfast pastries and latte. Later on the trip, my friend Mel and I found a tiny walk-up coffee cart in a small town on the North Island called Bulls. It was just like an average American drive-thru coffee shop, but much tinier, and they sold apricot fudge. I think the coffee was pretty good. Honestly, I think by that point my caffeine withdrawals were just happy to be soothed (my professor kept trying to feed me instant coffee *le sigh*).</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I’ve also tried the tiny cupfuls of Colombian coffee that are so rich and dark it’s like drinking syrup. I can’t wait to go to Finland to check out the coffee and sauna culture there… my dad, grandfather and uncle went to visit family there a couple of years ago.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And my dirty little secret… Dunkin’ Donuts French vanilla coffee with milk and sugar got me through my year of college in Boston. What can I say? It was only a dollar and change, and the store was open all night. I think happy though when I get to the baggage claim at Logan airport and I can smell it. Don't judge.
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<br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S3JWizdDN1I/AAAAAAAAAlg/vLUp4Uj_520/s1600-h/Picture+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S3JWizdDN1I/AAAAAAAAAlg/vLUp4Uj_520/s320/Picture+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436502856117204818" border="0" /></a>
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<br />Cheers all, and have a cuppa. Of the good stuff.
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<br />Also, if you miss me, check out <a href="http://la-futbolista.blogspot.com/">my other corner of the web</a> in which I rant about being a nursing student. ;)
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<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*First two images courtesy of Google. </span>
<br />Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-11767353383488001692010-01-30T02:44:00.000-08:002010-01-30T15:14:46.419-08:00season of loooooooveOne of the most annoying aspects of my life is people writing me off as soon as they hear I've been somewhere awesome. Anywhere other than the states that bound Oregon. Which is a grand total of four, if you were counting.<br /><br />The problem with this is that my travel defines me.<br /><br />For example, one day I felt beautiful:<br /><br />It was a sunny July day in Barcelona. B and I were walking back to our hostel from the beach, our hair damp, our skin tanned by the Riviera rays. We were walking through Badalona and a man stepped out of a shop. He was lighting up a cigarette, but he was entirely still for a moment as he looked at me. I was salty from the Mediterranean, but I wore no makeup. He looked like <a href="http://cm1.theinsider.com/media/0/453/21/sergio-ramos-2.0.0.0x0.415x600.jpeg">Sergio Ramos</a>.<br /><br />I think that what sticks with me is that he made me feel beautiful without ever uttering a word. He was in a hurry, but not so much that he didn't notice me.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kBpYAe_hEw-UUreG9kUX6XiwgY08rXXSEFYEEaoRVQ0b85yec9vmqMWiDG02QOPBSaIJSlYK9koGCvcnX4TZejz01D4VXjCPI3_YCb5tJjgOs2SguLeH-z0TV2WxOuyRnzdPHLcLu7-k/s1600-h/beachedbutnotawhale.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kBpYAe_hEw-UUreG9kUX6XiwgY08rXXSEFYEEaoRVQ0b85yec9vmqMWiDG02QOPBSaIJSlYK9koGCvcnX4TZejz01D4VXjCPI3_YCb5tJjgOs2SguLeH-z0TV2WxOuyRnzdPHLcLu7-k/s320/beachedbutnotawhale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432488778481800018" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I don't have to be pretty all the time. Being appreciated is nice. And let me say that I miss Spain once in awhile.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-54275655559499980662010-01-21T00:03:00.000-08:002010-03-04T21:48:11.708-08:00Sometimes people are embarassed by meKeep in mind that these pictures are from my New Zealand/Hawaii trip three years and I have <span style="font-style: italic;">honed my skills*</span> since then. ;) I also ditched the bangs. Which you can't see in these pictures (I win again!)<br /><br />We had a bunch of picky eaters along for the ride. That was just too bad for them in New Zealand, but during our two days on O'ahu, we were taken to the <a href="http://www.alamoanacenter.com/">Ala Moana</a> mall and told to fend for ourselves. The first time I ate Hawaiian food, the second... well, we decided to wander off to the beach and sneak back before our meet-up time.<br /><br />I met this palm tree. It could not withstand my super powers.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFA1h61fIuJgQeB5y1kcOnRbGjoFi7JSB1xn6czcVRzc92X8Li7TiDyV3tZziMQ9hTZ6wArF4-L6lx0_fuQJ4-6Ne8XSNIRCSKc9Lq5BovUMuKR2C0l0P8eDNKuKqN7eIT7-2CYD_6t_UL/s1600-h/superwoman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFA1h61fIuJgQeB5y1kcOnRbGjoFi7JSB1xn6czcVRzc92X8Li7TiDyV3tZziMQ9hTZ6wArF4-L6lx0_fuQJ4-6Ne8XSNIRCSKc9Lq5BovUMuKR2C0l0P8eDNKuKqN7eIT7-2CYD_6t_UL/s400/superwoman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429102351755689058" border="0" /></a><br />Then we went to the Big Island. We were taken to the Halema'uma'u Crater and lectured on volcano trivia. I tried to take notes, but I was swallowed by the earth.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S1gNgBt_jHI/AAAAAAAAAk4/VqYmMTNKlb4/s1600-h/swallowedbytheearth.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S1gNgBt_jHI/AAAAAAAAAk4/VqYmMTNKlb4/s400/swallowedbytheearth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429104194663451762" border="0" /></a><br />At <a href="http://www.hawaiistateparks.org/parks/hawaii/index.cfm?park_id=2">Akaka Falls State Park</a>, since I hike more than some people on the trip, I was back in the parking lot following the waterfalls loop hike sooner than they were. This picture is just good location and timing and the sneakiness of my friend Jeff.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S1gP44NMvMI/AAAAAAAAAlA/DHoY9eJSx_k/s1600-h/dangersome.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/S1gP44NMvMI/AAAAAAAAAlA/DHoY9eJSx_k/s400/dangersome.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429106820629970114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Apropos, n'est-ce pas? </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><br />Now do you see why some people pretend not to know me?<br /><br />I also recently learned that the more random a file name I use for a photo, the more ridiculous the search is that leads people to this blog. Things that have absolutely nothing to do with what this blog is about. It's a sort of poetic justice, I would say. Hello, random Google readers! Please don't be scared!<br /><br />*Said <span style="font-style: italic;">skills</span> include wildly erratic behavior and making my mother pretend she doesn't know me.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-1816556193548444932010-01-16T23:27:00.000-08:002010-01-17T00:04:08.929-08:00Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.Something that's been close to my heart for awhile now is about to go big. I began following <a href="http://www.theburiedlife.com/">The Buried Life</a> after I read an interview with them in <span style="font-style: italic;">brass </span>magazine in February 2008. The Buried Life is four young men who decided that life is more than a rat race, made a list of thing they wanted to do before they died, and set about accomplishing those things. Now they travel the country asking strangers "What do YOU want to do before you die?" and they've partnered with MTV to share their exploits with the world. The Buried Life premieres Monday, January 18th at 10.<br /><br />Part of the awesomeness of it all is that for everything they cross off on their list, they help a stranger with theirs. For what it's worth, here's mine.<br /><br />1. Sing 'Waltzing Matilda' at an Australian rugby match<br />2. Go to a World Cup soccer game<br />3. Spend a summer volunteering in a third world country<br />4. Dive and snorkel the Great Barrier Reef<br />5. Drive a bobsled<br />6. Learn to surf big waves<br />7. Ride in a bulldozer scoop<br />8. Write down my grandfather's story and the story of the <i>SS Star of Oregon</i><br />9. Live in another country<br />10. Become fluent in at least one other language<br />11. Skydive<br />12. Fly a helicopter<br />13. Go rock-climbing<br />14. Go on an Athletes in Action soccer mission trip<br />15. Learn to salsa dance<br />16. Roadtrip down the Pacific Coast Highway in a convertible with a friend<br />17. Marry the man of my dreams<br />18. Wear a really big hat to the Kentucky Derby<br />19. See the running of the bulls in Pamplona and drink sangria at a bullfight<br />20. <s>Learn basic car maintenance</s><br />21. Be a Soldier's Angel<br />22. Graduate nursing school<br />23. Owe nothing to anyone by 2020<br />24. Learn to listen like I'm the only other person alive<br />25. Hike the Patagonia<br />26. Mine for rubies<br />27. Climb Denali<br />28. Design, make and sell a line of clothing<br />29. Volunteer at a USO or a VA hospital<br />30. Date a professional soccer player<br />31. Jump a horse on a cross-country course<br />32. Go ice-skating<br />33. Get a tattoo<br />34. Grant a child's wish<br />35. Go back to Queenstown and do the Nevis Highwire Bungy<br />36. Interview a soccer player for publication<br />37. Visit the Devil's Swimming Pool at the top of Victoria Falls<br />38. Walk all the way around an island<br />39. Go waterskiing/wakeboarding<br />40. Work on a Hollywood film<br />41. <s>Attend a major sporting event</s> (TOUR DE FRANCE)<br />42. Touch the World Cup<br />43. Celebrate Carnaval in Brasil<br />44. Cruise the Mediterranean on a sailing ship<br />45. Learn to snowboard have a go at heli-boarding<br />46. Party with rockstars<br />47. Kiss Ben Barnes<br />48. Find a way to help provide underprivileged kids with soccer opportunities<br />49. Own a pair of Christian Louboutins<br />50. Write a book for my future children<br />51. Publish a photograph<br />52. Learn ballroom dancing<br />53. Jump off a waterfall<br />54. Give the commencement address at a graduation<br />55. Take a boat trip down the Nile<br />56. Drive the 007 car really fast ...the Aston Martin Vanquish<br />57. Visit Alaska, Kentucky, Maryland and Delaware... the four states I have yet to see<br />58. Re-enact LIFE magazine's <a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v466/elerrinarose/random/victorykiss.jpg">picture of the sailor kissing the nurse</a> on V-J Day 1945<br />59. Visit every continent<br />60. Go backstage at a big concert<br />61. Ride in a hot-air balloon<br />62. Model on a runway<br />63. Learn to play an instrument<br />64. Drive a tank<br />65. See the new Seven Wonders of the World<br />66. Help build a house... even if it's just painting<br />67. Taste Dom Pérignon<br />68. See a Shakespeare play at the Globe<br />69. Ride a (really big) roller coaster<br />70. Do a back handspring<br />71. Hang glide<br />72. Stay in a hotel on stilts over water (Bora Bora or the Maldives)<br />73. Learn to read and write Arabic<br />74. Attend a fashion show in Milan, Paris or New York<br />75. Dance with a celebrity<br />76. Take up archery<br />77. Sponsor a needy child<br />78. Help someone out through Make-a-Wish<br />79. Go four-wheeling on sand dunes with my brothers<br />80. Help put my two youngest siblings through college<br />81. Commit random acts of kindness every day for a month<br />82. Feel the heat on my face from a space shuttle launch<br />83. Stand in each of the world's major seas<br />84. Spend a summer in Spain and Portugal with Melanie<br />85. <s>Adopt a "grandparent" in a nursing home</s><br />86. Ride a motorcycle<br />87. <a href="http://aworldelsewhere.blogspot.com/"><s>Start and maintain a travel blog</s></a><br />88. <s>Yodel in the Alps</s><br />89. Fly a fighter jet in Cape Town, South Africa<br />90. Talk to a politician in Pig Latin<br />91. Spend a night in the Ice Hotel in Sweden<br />92. Participate in a flash mob event<br />93. Read all the way through Shakespeare's canon<br />94. Get my carry permit<br />95. <s>Backpack Europe on my own</s><br />96. Get over my fear of public singing<br />97. Learn capoeira<br />98. Contribute to research on breathing disorders/kick asthma's butt<br />99. Play paintball<br />100. Meet a Medal of Honor winner<br />101. Call Jake Owen<br />102. Convince a local Italian boy to take me on a moped tour of his town<br />103. Participate in a hash<br />104. Go the Oberammergau Passion Play<br />105. Play <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XE-DZwiLwf4" target="_blank">swamp soccer</a> in Finland<br /><br />What do you want to do before you die? Wanna help me with my list? I'll return the favor. Anyway, check 'em out on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#/buriedlife?ref=mf">Facebook</a>. They're cool.Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7814189197369031320.post-34977916473536378412009-12-13T00:37:00.000-08:002011-02-02T21:10:05.825-08:00days in the sunIt's kinda hard to update without pictures. My old computer was eaten by viruses and will hopefully be resurrected over the Christmas holidays. I hope. So, to make it entertaining here until that happens, I stole a bunch of pictures of my <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/brittamarie/">roomie</a>'s Flickr.<br /><br /><br />Britta took this photo at the Loire Valley wedding we went to. It was 2am, maybe 3, when the waiters gave up on refilling our wine glasses individually and just left the bottles to our mercy. Of course, it was also about that time that the beer and champagne started flowing.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">In Gennes</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/SySrJ42XmaI/AAAAAAAAAjo/mAvW9ofJsKE/s1600-h/4am.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/SySrJ42XmaI/AAAAAAAAAjo/mAvW9ofJsKE/s320/4am.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414640838373775778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Fact: the French can moonwalk much better than the average American<br /><br /></span></div>After our side trip to Monaco, our new friend Thor took us to the popular yachtee bar The Hop Store in Antibes. The beers were large, the company was great, and I will never forget that awesome, spontaneous, beautiful night in a tiny town on the Riviera.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">In Antibes</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtP5eHa_-pVBGH8qaaNXk6vlMeBplXGGe6sSHJPspyKXqE9_gkSLZqgBGKxDsM298PmRJgVJle6ZKh4q0IyDnbwBThEQDmTOGfK-Le2oPE7pQRkqm5y0XMaer_Q3fScIKvsdj-6qyyLwx3/s1600-h/thehopstore.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtP5eHa_-pVBGH8qaaNXk6vlMeBplXGGe6sSHJPspyKXqE9_gkSLZqgBGKxDsM298PmRJgVJle6ZKh4q0IyDnbwBThEQDmTOGfK-Le2oPE7pQRkqm5y0XMaer_Q3fScIKvsdj-6qyyLwx3/s320/thehopstore.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414642038540334210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Yeah, we know we're cuter with beer<br /><br /></span></div>Can't have a trip to France without crê<em></em>pes. We stuffed our faces with deliciousness on Montmartre.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">In Paris</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/SySrKBGD6VI/AAAAAAAAAjw/nRZNKQ8GsVk/s1600-h/creper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_42QBwTtHNk8/SySrKBGD6VI/AAAAAAAAAjw/nRZNKQ8GsVk/s320/creper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414640840587077970" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The sheer brilliance of the crê<em></em>pe</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> is underestimated<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, my comment box is lonely. Please help it stop feeling self-conscious? You know you want to .<br /></div></div>Princess Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13834820279935113037noreply@blogger.com1