Peter and Crystal's Big Fat Texas Move

All the pictures of our move: http://www.electrictao.net/gallery/texasmove
Pictures of our new apartment:http://www.electrictao.net/gallery/mesaverde

Leaving the Northeast

I left Ithaca for Burlington at noon on Saturday Feb. 28th. Crystal and her mom (Debbie) were out at dinner when I arrived. We spent the evening and most of Sunday packing up more of Crystal's apartment. It was in a pretty frightening shape when I arrived, and it was not much better by Sunday evening.

We had reserved a 15' truck with Budget about a month prior to the move, and Monday morning we drove to the Burlington Budget Rent-A-Truck to pick it up. Upon arrival, the gentleman there informed us that he was *just* trying to get a hold of us to let us know that they were unable to get a 15' truck to Burlington in time. However, they might be able to get one in tomorrow, and furthermore they did have three lovely 24' trucks in the lot, and would we be interested in those, perhaps? I flatly stated that I was not about to drive a 24' truck with car carrier in tow, and Crystal and I decided that waiting another day for a "possible truck" was also unacceptable.

We called up the local U-Haul, and it turns out that they had just gotten a 17' truck in that morning. We reserved it and were told we could pick it up a few hours later. We returned to Crystal's apartment and started moving boxes from her apartment (at the end of a long hallway) down to the loading area. We left briefly to pick up the truck while Crystal's mom stayed behind to guard our belongings.

Debbie had hired two professional movers to help us load the truck, and they showed up around 2pm. Though they expressed doubt that all of Crystal's belongings could fit into a 17' truck, they proceeded anyway. Two and a half grueling hours later, almost all of Crystal's stuff had been packed into the truck, with some stuff left out to be packed in the morning. Some of the lamps and boxes of books were packed into my car. Monday evening, Crystal's apartment was pretty much empty, save for a twin bed for her mom and a futon mattress for us.

Tuesday morning we woke up at 4am and did final cleanup of the apartment. At daybreak (around 6am) we dragged everything down the hall and loaded up the truck. Crystal dropped off the keys when the Woolen Mill's main office opened at 8am, and she was officially a Vermonter no more.

We formed a little caravan all the way down to I-81: I drove the U-Haul, Debbie followed me in her white Honda Accord, and Crystal brought up the rear in my WRX (filled up books, lamps, and plants). The U-Haul rolled precariously every time I hit a pothole all along Rt. 7 and 22A, and Crystal expressed a serious concern that I might flip over. I tried avoiding potholes (with little success) for the rest of the drive down to Ithaca, and Crystal tried to avoid watching the U-Haul wobble. Crystal and I parted ways with Debbie at I-87, since she was headed down to Delaware and we were headed to I-88 and on to Ithaca. We made it into Ithaca by about 4pm, with a lunch stop at the McDonald's in Ballston Spa, where we were served by a young girl with a lazy eye.

My apartment was not really all that packed, and upon inspection of the amount of stuff I had, we decided - er, Crystal insisted - that we get a trailer to tow behind the U-Haul. I drove the U-Haul down to the Ithaca U-Haul dealer and they agreed to give me a trailer as well as have a mechanic look at my broken turn signal relays. I left the truck with them overnight, and Crystal picked me up and drove us to Maxi's, where we had a tasty dinner with Matt and Tonya. After dinner, we went home and spent the rest of the night packing more boxes.

Wednesday morning, I called up the U-Haul to pick up my truck, but apparently the truck wasn't going to be ready until almost noon, so we spent the morning doing even more packing. We picked up the truck after a quick breakfast at Collegetown Bagels, and proceeded to spend the next 10 hours unpacking 1/3 of the truck, loading up the trailer, and loading up the truck. Jim and Matt (from eCornell) stopped by to help me move my desks. Other than that, we had no assistance and a constant threat of rain. (A lot of our stuff was sitting out in the apartment parking lot around the truck.) Crystal was very concerned about the truck's wobbling from yesterday, so she insisted that we load the truck more heavily on the left, since it seemed to list to the right. We finally finished loading up most of the stuff at 9pm, and we headed down to Four Seasons in Collegetown for dinner. We barely had the energy to drive, and we collapsed into bed as soon as we got back home.

I had planned to check out of my apartment Thursday, but when the North Wood checkout guy came by, my apartment still had lots of junk. I had planned on giving away most of the stuff (e.g. storage bins, spare bottle of motor oil, etc.), but I hadn't gotten around to it yet. As it turns out, the checkout guy was more than happy to relieve me of most of the items, including my $5 busted bookshelf and my old black desk that I had purchased in Ithaca 5 years ago. By the time he was done hauling off stuff, all that was really left in the apartment were some items I had hoped to sell, like my 19" monitor, my snow tires, and my air conditioner. I dropped off these items in the basement of the eCornell office, then went to Wegman's with Crystal for our last lunch in Ithaca. We both had pasta and shared an order of sushi.

After lunch, I stopped by the office once more to say goodbye to all the eCornell folks, then did the real checkout walk-through at my apartment. We finally got out of Ithaca at 4:30pm.

We had originally planned to leave early Thursday morning and make it to Lexington, VA Thursday night. Since we didn't leave until late afternoon, we were just going to wing it and see how far we could get. By the time we had dinner in Harrisburg, PA, we were both exhausted, so we tried to locate a hotel that accepted pets and had a vacancy. Unfortunately there seemed to be some sort of convention going on (in Harrisburg! in February!), so we had to keep pressing on. I called Rob up on the phone, and, with his help, I got a reservation at the Red Roof Inn in Winchester, VA. We consumed large amounts of caffeine and managed to make it into Winchester around 11pm or midnight. Day 1: 340 miles

The Long Drive Home

We got up at 7:30am on Friday, March 5th and had a nice continental breakfast at the Red Roof Inn. We then loaded up the cats, loaded up our bags, and resumed our long journey. We stopped for lunch just outside of Lexington, VA.

Sometime around 2pm, I heard an ugly, loud "splat" sound come from the back of the U-Haul, followed by a very loud "ca-chunk-ca-chunk" noise. When I quickly glanced at the sideview mirror I noticed bit of black stuff flying out behind me. I pulled over into the emergency shoulder, assuming one of my rear tires had burst. Upon inspection, I realized that the left, inner tire was in bad shape. The tire was still inflated and still had pressure, but most of the tread had stripped away. Fortunately there was a yellow Virginia DOT maintenance vehicle nearby (ironically, clearing the shoulder of blown tires), and I managed to ascertain from the maintenance worker that the nearest exit was only two miles away, and I was bound to find a garage in town that could replace the tire for me. Crystal drove ahead in the WRX to confirm the exit and I limped along in the emergency shoulder. The exit was for the town of Pulaski, VA, and as I followed the maintenance worker's directions into town, I noticed that I had passed up an actual U-Haul center, up on a hill to the left of the road. I made a drastic, slow, imprecise, 10-point W-turn at the very next driveway, and limped into the parking lot of L&L Truck and Auto Service, Pulaski, VA.

The folks at the U-Haul National Breakdown Line were very helpful on the phone, and promptly called up L&L to authorize repair on my vehicle. However, Mr. L informed me that they had some people already scheduled for service that day, so it would be probably "15 minutes or so" before they could get to my vehicle. So Crystal and I sat and waited.

Two hours, 3 vehicle inspections, 1 RV repair, and 1 Budweiser delivery truck later, L and L finally began work on my truck. They drove it into the garage, jacked up the left side on a 5-ton jack, swapped out the tire with a new one, and, at my request, checked the tire pressure and treads on all the other tires. Mr. L (the other one) assured me that they all look fine, and that my vehicle was in good shape. I was relieved to finally get the truck back, but was less than eager to get back on the road. It was now 5pm on Friday, and we had only gone 225 miles. We still had 310 miles before Chattanooga.

We press onwards, to Bristol, then to Knoxville. Rain and thunderstorms had descended over us, and our entire drive through Knoxville on I-81 and then I-40 was complicated not only by the busy Friday night traffic, but also by heavy construction, wet roads and dense rain. Crystal and I are both starving at this point, having skipped dinner. (We had tried to get dinner at the Cracker Barrel in Morristown, TN, but there was a 30 minute wait so we just kept driving.) We stopped at an Exxon in Sweetwater, TN to get gas and to take a break from the thunderstorms along I-75. We finally get back on the road, drive the last 100 miles in the pouring rain, and make it into Chattanooga around 11pm. My mom had lots of food and soup waiting for us, and we dove into it, stuffing ourselves thankfully. Day 2: 540 miles

We decided to spend Saturday recovering in Chattanooga. The rains the previous night had flooded the ponds and the creek, and we walked around enjoying the sunshine, fresh air, and lack of interstate. Mom made more delicious food for us, and we watched a couple of movies. Crystal took several naps, and I just vegged out and played with the cats.

Sunday March 7th: We left Chattanooga early in the morning, filled with yummy food and in excellent cheer from our well-deserved day of rest. We made great time down I-59 and I-20 to Birmingham, AL, leaving the Eastern time zone for good, and leaving behind all of our East Coast uptightness.

We stopped in Monroe for lunch at KFC, then drove on through Chunky and Jackson and finally made it into Vicksburg, MS around 4pm. We had dinner at a nearby restaurant named Rowdy's Family Restaurant, consuming large amounts of fried catfish, fried oysters, and Freedom Fries. It was all delicious and very fresh. We then retired to our room at the Econo Lodge and got an excellent night's sleep. Day 4: 425 miles

We woke up very early Monday morning (5am) and went to the local Waffle House for breakfast. There were not too many other patrons, but all of them went quiet as Crystal and I entered. The waitress was very friendly and brought us our breakfast quickly, but as we ate, I noticed the cook behind the counter staring at us. After we had eaten and paid and were driving off, I noticed that the cook was still following my car as we pulled out of the parking lot. Apparently interracial marriage is still a rare sight in Vicksburg. (Well, that, or Chinese people.)

Arriving in Texas

Our drive through Louisiana was uneventful (save for the bright yellow cropduster weaving to and fro over the interstate), and we made it through Mound, Dubberly, and Shreveport, LA. We skipped lunch altogether and made it into Dallas around 1pm. Aunt Carol's house is on the eastern part of town, so we didn't have to contend with any traffic to get there. We made such good time that Carol and the others were not in when we arrived. (They had expected us to arrive two hours later.)

Our lunch consisted of sandwiches that Carol had brought home, and we spent the rest of the afternoon watching Jane and Kaylee interact with Carol's cats. We managed to set up Carol's new home theater system as well, and played Finding Nemo for Crystal's grandparents. We all went for dinner at the Backcountry BBQ near Carol's house, and then we got a tour of Edgemere, where Crystal's grandparents live. Day 5: 360 miles

Tuesday March 9th: Carol and Debbie drove down to Austin with us, and we formed a caravan with Carol in front in her blue Ford truck, me second in the Uhaul, Crystal third in my WRX, and Debbie last in Carol's new red Forester. We left Dallas early in the morning and made a stop in Waxahatchie, TX to drop off the Ford truck for Carol's friend Amy. We checked out Amy's barn as well and saw a box of cute kittens as well as several gorgeous Arabian horses. After the ladies tore themselves away from the horses, we continued on our way to Austin (stopping briefly at a Starbucks in Waco).

Moving In

We pulled up to the Mesa Verde Apartments main office a little after noon. Inside of 10 minutes we had signed our final lease, gotten our keys, and driven the Uhaul over to the front door of our new apartment. Debbie had called ahead for two movers to help us unload the truck, but they were not due for until 1pm, so we headed to the local Chic-Fil-A and had a delicious lunch. (It was Carol's first Chic-Fil-A experience!)

The movers, Juan and Eric, showed up on time and as I directed and helped unload the truck, they moved boxes up the steps in the apartment, where Crystal was arranging where boxes should go. Carol and Debbie helped move items as well as take photographs. The truck was completely unloaded by 4:30pm, and we were able to return it to the local U-Haul center by 5pm.

Carol was too tired to go out for dinner, so she stayed in and nursed a glass of champagne while Crystal, Debbie, and I went down to a local Vietnamese restaurant (named Thai Son) to have dinner.

As soon as I looked at the menu I felt a shock wave of relief. There before me was my beloved "Large Bowl of Pho with Beef, Tendon, and Tripe" for $5.75. And there, on the other page, was Grilled Pork Vermicelli! They also had bubble tea (complete with taro and red bean flavors!) with milk tea, green tea, and black tea. The taste was incredible... my first real Pho in many, many months. I was amazed, satisfied, incredulous, and happy.

Over the next few days, we assembled the bed, the futons, the desks in the office, and the bookshelves. Crystal, her mom, her aunt, and I spent the mornings shopping for household items in the morning, then unpacking boxes in the afternoon. We managed to purchase a kitchen island/cart from Bed Bath & Beyond for $400 to make up for the lack of counter space, and we purchased a towel stand from the Pottery Barn. We bought two matching entry tables from Bombay Company to serve as nightstands for Crystal's abnormally large bed, and we bought a Whirlpool washer and dryer set from Best Buy. We drooled at all the stuff in the Container Store, but purchased only some InterMetro shelves for our pots and pans, some metal bins for storing random computer junk, and a floor model Skandia shelf for our printers.

We also dined at some exceptional restaurants: Uchi, a superb Japanese restaurant serving amazing dim sum-style dishes featuring fresh fish flown in every other day from Japan; The Granite Cafe, serving some of the most delicious trout I have ever tasted, plus an selection of excellent desserts; Wink Restaurant, with a superlative and simple menu of excellent entrees and a host of sinful desserts; and Cool River, where we had some excellent steak and some of the most tender calamari I have ever tasted. (I also had a habanero chocolate Belgian waffle ice cream sandwich for dessert. Hard to describe, but very spicy, sweet, and delicious.)

On Sunday, March 14th, Debbie and Carol left Austin around noon to spend a few days in Brenham, TX before returning to Dallas. Crystal and I started working on Monday, formally drawing our grand moving adventure to a close. From here on out, it's just big sky, big roads, juicy steak, and two Yankees on the verge of Texafication.

Italy: Florence

...in which we experience Italian drivers first-hand and Amy leaves a souvenir at the Campanile.

I awoke to my mom announcing "it's 9 o'clock!" We hurriedly packed our stuff, ran downstairs to get breakfast, then moved our luggage out onto the street. Dad walked all the way to the rental car place, and we waited on the curb in front of the hotel. We waited quite a while. I made some videos of ambulances and police cars going by, we saw lots of people coming and going, Amy started reading a book. Finally dad came - on foot. The car hadn't arrived yet, it would be another half an hour or so. We waited together, then finally he set off again to get the car. We moved the luggage inside the hotel lobby because at this point the sun was near the zenith and there was no shade. Mom and Amy waited inside, while I stood outside. At 11:30, dad pulls up in a green, 4-door Opel Vectra sedan. We were supposed to get a 3-door hatchback Fiat Punto, and we were supposed to get it at 9:30. Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived in Italy.

As soon as dad pulled up with the car, we loaded up the luggage and got in the car. I sat in front and navigated, dad (in a manner of speaking) drove. We actually didn't have too bad of a time getting out of Rome and onto A1, the main interstate up to Florence - the scooters are a real nuisance. If I ever had to live in Florence, I would definitely get a cattle prod and drive around with my window down. It was sort of neat to be going 90mph legally, except that my dad angered quite a few Mercedes SUVs by sitting in the left lane. We took just about two hours to get to Florence.

We haven't made any hotel reservations or anything. My guidebook advises that since Florence is one of the most popular summertime hotspots, one should make a hotel reservation, avoid driving in the city center, and park at one of the larger car parks and take the bus into town. After reading this section out loud in the car, dad decides that he'll be damned if he can't find a hotel smack in the middle of downtown, and he'll be further damned if he's not going to take advantage of this powerful automobile he has rented. We take the first Florence exit off A1 (Firenze Sud) and as soon as we cross the river, we take our first left onto Langarno Colombo, a radial spoke into the heart of downtown Florence. My dad's quest to disprove the Michelin Green Guide Italy is stunted by the fact that 1km from downtown, the road becomes one way in the opposite direction. We take a right onto a broad road that runs around the outside of Florence, and at the next opportune radial spoke inwards, we make another left. Not only is this road narrow, it is also filled with bus traffic coming in the opposite direction, and the lane in which we are driving seems to be have words painted in it at regular intervals. These words seem to read "BUS LANE". We see a police car parked at an intersection ahead and I advice dad to take a right off of this road. He actually listens, and we end up directly behind a vehicle being towed away. A few minutes later, we are underway again, winding through inconceivably small Florentine streets. We follow the road signs for "Hotel", take numerous turns at strange angles, and eventually end up in in an alleyway that terminates in a large plaza of San Something-or-the-Other. There is a hotel here. Dad parks on the side of the road, I dash inside to ask the rate, I come back to confer, and we decide to stay. We pull the car out in front of the hotel (in the plaza), unload our bags, sign in and check out our rooms. They are nice. Very nice. $100 euro/night nice. Oh, and there's free internet access in the lobby. Yay!!

It so happens that all our wandering led us to a hotel (Le Due Fontane) that was literally two blocks from the Duomo. We got our stuff together and headed out to explore as much of Florence as possible before everything closed for the day. We walked down a side alleyway, turned the corner onto Via del Servi, and caught sight of the Basillica San Maria del Fiore.

The word "monstrosity" would be apropos here, except that this thing is beautiful. I cannot lavish enough praise on the sheer *size* of the structure, to say nothing of its sublime green, red and white marbled walls and trademark red dome. Although its windows and walls and buttresses and various other Gothic features are amazing, the first thing you do (and the only thing you do for about five minutes) is gaze up, up, up - all the way up to see the cross at the very top of the dome shrouded in a light haze. I think it is far more impressive because no matter how you approach it, one always first sees it from a skinny Italian road or alley, and it just towers above everything around you. If you can see it at all, you have to tilt your head a good 60 degrees upwards. I was skeptical when I read in the guidebook that this was perhaps the largest church in all Christiandom. After all, I just saw St. Peter's the other day. But after laying eyes upon the Duomo, I was immediately certain that this was the largest church I have ever seen - if for nothing else but its ability to humble anyone in its presence.

There was also a nice little tower, the Campanile, to the side of the Duomo. I use "little" in the Italian sense, meaning it was only about 300 feet high. Its design was elegant, its construction of the same gorgeous green, red and white marble as the Duomo, and it would be a national landmark of any other country, if it were not for the fact that it was standing beside (and dwarfed by) the Duomo. At first sight of the tower, I knew I had to climb it. I ventured inside and read that it had 414 steps, and entry was $6 Euro. A sign cautioned, "There is no lift!" I told my parents and sister that I was going up, they could wait down here if they wanted to. Hearing this, they had no choice, and we all started the ascent.

The tower actually has several observation levels. The first staircase takes you halfway up, then there are a series of narrow winding stairs in the corner mini-towers that take the incrementally higher, until you emerge in an unventilated, cramped little roof room. There are access stairs on opposite sides of the room that take you to a perimeter walkway all around the very top of the tower. The view of Florence is truly incredible - massive domes bulging out from a sea of red-tiled roofs, and plazas and immense buildings dotting the landscape. I admired the view for quite a while, took a couple of panomoramas, and went back inside the attic-like room to get some shade (and to let my camera cool off). My sister was leaned up against a wall and she told us she was feeling nauseous. Suspecting dehydration, we gave her some water, fanned her, then started walking down the steps.

She managed to get to the first landing before vomiting. Fortunately she didn't eat much for lunch so it was mostly just liquid. I stood at the next landing down to caution people on the ascent, my dad went back to the attic room to get more water, and Amy started feeling better immediately. After resting for about 10 minutes, we continued the descent and made it to the bottom in almost no time.

Once we got to the bottom, we got her some more water and food, then made our way to the entrance to the Duomo. Despite the signs proclaiming no entrance if you wore shorts, they let me in, but made Amy wear a paper shawl over her shoulders. The inside of the Duomo was not nearly as impressive as St. Peter's Cathedral, nor did it even live up to the grandeur of its outside. We didn't spend much time there, but rather left and browsed around Florence some more. Every shop proclaimed "Saldi!", and at one deli we got some sandwiches, gelato and tiramisu. We walked over the Ponte Vecchio, a famous bridge with lots of jewelry stores. I finally caved in to the abundance of leather vendors and stores, and went into some to try out the jackets. In one of them, we met a girl from new orleans (Lily) who was spending a year in Italy before going to Sarah Lawrence for college (studying Art History). She was a very nice saleslady, and I would have felt more guilty not buying anything if the leather jacket in question didn't cost $400 Euro. We continued our walking tour of Florence, and happened upon a model doing a photo shoot on a bridge. I also found a copy store and darted in, managing to purchase 4 blank CDs in spite of my broken Italian. We then found a Chinese restaurant for dinner.

After dinner, we walked back through the brightly lit nighttime streets of Florence, taking our time and enjoying the sights. This seems to be the real charm of an Italian plaza at night - people out eating and relaxing, hot girls and (I'm assuming hot guys) strolling around, maybe looking at you, maybe not (most likely not), tanned flesh tones everywhere. You just don't get this sense of relaxation in similar American venues. I did not pass a single soul who looked rushed by the fact that it was getting on 11pm on a *weekday*. The entire atmosphere here oozes lazy European decadence - drink enough of that pure bottled water, eat enough gelato, and soon you'll be demanding a 35 hour work week.

When we got back to the hotel, I walked over to the free internet terminal in the lobby and realized (to my dismay) that it was dialup. Oh well. I double-clicked the only network shortcut icon on the desktop (ominously named "gates", in all lower case), waited patiently while the pink modem started buzzing away. I waited some more. There didn't seem to be much sound coming from it, and then the lights cliked off and I got an error message. OK, twice a charm, right? Clickety click, buzz buzz ring, ring, ring... then silence. And..... bam, and error box. OK, time to call the main desk guy over. He clicks on some options, writes down the phone number *the modem has been dialing*, then proceeds to go to the main desk phone and call it up. At this point I decide to go upstairs and shower while he figures out about the whole modem and baud and v.42 thing.

I downloaded my pictures to my laptop and took a shower, then returned to the lobby with high hopes that things had been fixed. Unfortunately, the older gentleman who was there previously had been replaced by a younger man, and the computer in the corner was turned off entirely. I asked if he knew if the Internet connection was working, and he futilely waved his arms and said "I don'ta know, I don'ta know - you try." I walked to the computer, sat down and turned it on. I tried connecting again and, after two minutes of high-pitched modem squeal of the sort that I had cherished as a child, met with no success. I tried setting the password for the connection to the one indicated on the printed paper taped to the monitor; this resulted in a shorter fail time, with a new error message. I do not have an Italian MCSE, but I could make out "incorrect username and/or password". At this point I realized that my "mad computer skillz" are apparently a localized phenomenon (somewhere west of the Atlantic) and shut down the computer. I was thinking offensive thoughts about Italy and the new Informational Dark Ages when I happened to catch a glimpse over the shoulder of the lobby attendant - the man who previously gesticulated his ignorance of computers - and he was not only browsing the Internet, but he was doing so at tremendous speeds. I knew this because (1) he was clicking around IE and the corner icon was spinning, and (2) he was downloading very, shall we say, graphics-intensive Flash programs. Yes, the "shall we say" was meant to be suggestive. I am only a novice's novice at Italian, but I'll bet good money I know what "Le 69" means. Show me one of those cute European blondes and I'll show you I'm a cunning linguist. (OK, props to James Bond...)

Anyways, after failing to get my daily fix of 'net, I retired upstairs and went to sleep.

Italy: the Colloseum and other large buildings

...in which Peter sights Flo (uberchienne from the Amazing Race), sees Caeser's cremation mound, and discovers that large-denomination Euro coins are magnetic.

Got up in the morning at 7:30 and packed up stuff, went downstairs for quick breakfast, then got on SSGRR bus to Rome. Slept most of the way to make up for only getting two hours of sleep last night. We unloaded our bags at Tibertina, took the Metro to Termini, then walked several blocks to the Hotel Augustea, on Via Nationale. We checked in, dropped off our bags, then washed up and walked up the street to a much closer T station (Republica) and took it to Colloseo. As soon as we got out at Colloseo, I caught my first sight of the colloseum, and was duly impressed. (I would say more except I think I was still low on adjectives from yesterday's mind-blowing trip to the Vatican.)

We walked around the colloseum and got in line for tickets. I soon realized that the girl standing in line in front of us looked exactly like Flo from last season's Amazing Race. I mentioned this to my parents and sister, mentioned the name "Amazing Race" in English, and I saw her eyes momentarily widen. I didn't work up the courage to ask her if she was indeed Flo, but I am happy to assume it was.

We entered the colloseum and walked all over it, snapping pictures left and right. It took us a good 10 minutes to find the stairs and ascend them. We strolled around the upper level of the colloseum, taking more pictures of the colloseum and the surrounding Roman ruins. There really wasn't a whole lot more to see or do (other than eavesdrop on passing English-speaking tour groups), so we took a final look and left. At this point the noon-time Mediterranean sun had taken its tool, and we were tired and thirsty when we crossed the street and sat down at the little eatery. Mom made the keen observation that the food at the eatery inside the metro station looked just as good and cost less. We headed inside, bought some sandwiches and drinks and ate standing up next to a garbage can/table fixture. After lunch, we walked over to the Palatino (ruins of ancient Rome's center) and spent a couple of hours walking through it. It was really quite incredible and we took numerous pictures all around.

We walked through the ruins to the Palazzo Senatorio and then the Palazzo Venezia, a monster of a building, even for Rome, and after taking more pictures outside, we entered. There was an exhibit for some famous Italian sculptor, as well as a war memorial exhibit. At some point we sat down to rest on the steps in a large marble stairwell, and a dumpy Italian man walking by stopped, turned to us, and gestured repeatedly for us to stand up until we finally got up. Later on, after walking around some more, Amy was sitting down on some steps (as was several other people), and a uniformed museum guard came out to tell them all they had to get up. Very odd. No explanation, no anger, just a persistent arm gesture until everyone stood up.

After leaving the Plaza Venezia, we walked over to the Pantheon. The others had already seen it earlier last week, so I walked around on my own. The later came inside and sat down on the cool marble floor while I attempted to photograph the roof. A uniformed lady soon came by and gestured for everyone to get up off the floor - again, no explanation, no enmity, just constant flapping until everyone was up.

After the Pantheon, we went to the Fontana di Trevi and loitered. While mom, dad and Amy sat on the edge of the pool, I walked around looking for a cheap place to get Fanta and stumbled on an Internet Cafe. I walked in, saw two 12-year-olds watching Strongbad on one of the PCs, and sat down in front of a free machine. The girl next to me was on AIM and her mom (on the other side of me) was checking stocks or some such. I sent out an email to Crystal, taking somewhere between 5 and 10 minutes, then left and picked up two Fanta before returning to the side of the Fontana. My parents had spotted an old lady going around with a magnet on the end of a metal rod, fishing money out of the Fontana. I managed to get a nice brief video of her making a catch (without the patrol ladies blowing their whistles at her).

After about half an hour, we left the Fontana and started looking for a place to eat. We found a Chinese restaurant on one of the roads and ate there. The food was quite good - I had fried seaweed for an appetizer - and we got very full. After dinner we walked back to our hotel and unwound from the work of the day.

Italy: the Vatican

...in which Peter sees the Sistine Chapel and almost offends God with his bared knees...

We got up at 7:30, had some breakfast, and caught the conference-chartered bus into Rome. Our first order of business after getting off at Termini was to reserve a rental car for Monday morning. This went like many things in Italy: we told them what we wanted; they didn't have it; we told them again; "look, I make call, try to see what I can do, OK?"; 10 minute phone call and some paper shuffling; "OK, we have it" followed by description of not quite what we wanted ("automatic? looka, here in Italy we like di feel of da car, you want automatic?"), followed by another phone call, and finally a resigned, defeated, "OK, no problemo." We managed to reserve a 3-door Fiat Punto for 6 days.

After this interesting ordeal, we took the Metro from Termini to Ottoviano, where we could walk to the Vatican City (and its museum). It was in the subway terminals and on the Metro itself that I had my first revelation about Italian women: They all wear thongs. Universally. I know this because my second revelation was that they like to wear see-through, skin tight white pants. This is a double-edged sword because even though 1 out of every 3 Italian girls is imminently doable, there's still that 2 out of 3 that really... ugh... shouldn't be wearing those tight outfits. Even though everyone is well dressed, they don't make you feel bad if you're not. (This is quite different from New York, where even the bums wear Ralph Lauren and give you bad looks for wearing a Linux tee.)

Rome has an extremely diverse mix of people - so many tourists - and I think I heard Italian, Chinese, German, Japanese, and several dialects of French. I also caught sight of numerous Scandanavian families (complete AND replete with delicious Scandanavian daughters). I quickly realized that I'm actually a fan of darker blue eyes and darker blonde hair, and the light blue (almost green) eyes of those Swedes really freaks me out. Maybe bad genetic memories of barbarian hordes sweeping across the Urals? Also the Swedish girls I saw were too lanky/thin/tall and had very ungraceful movements. They could all take lessons from Portia di Rossi.

Our trip through the Musei Vaticani was interesting. Unlike 95% of the people walking through, I had absolutely no idea what most of the stuff I was looking at really was. This is, on the one hand, rather unfortunate, since it means I can't appreciate the historical significance of a given piece of art or frescoe or doorway. However, there is a benefit, which is that I get to judge each piece on its own merits. So, in laymen's terms: there are lots and lots and lots of sculptures. There are lots and lots and lots of paintings. You cannot even begin to imagine how many there are. Each one has tremendous history behind it, and some are very striking, even though they all generally depict similar death/birth/judgement/revelation scenes. There is a lovely courtyard the size of a football field and lined by multiple, identical presentation displays. Each display had multiple pictures of the Sistine Chapel, before and after restoration, lots of text describing the process, and a guide person describing the history of the Chapel and the Museum in one of several foreign languages. We listened to a British guide for a while, then ventured inside.

By "inside", I mean "inside the museum", of course, and not the Chapel itself. The structure of the museum is such that each chamber or room contains incrementally more spectacular works of art than its predecessor, and every few rooms there is a sign for "Sistine Chapel" followed by an arrow. After an hour of this, I was starting to get really antsy, and started inventing colorful, disparaging, and wholly inaccurate parallels between this windy tour through endless rooms and Catholicism. Again, providence or fate managed to spare both myself and the Catholic God, and we were dumped right into the darkened, quiet, crowded Sistine Chapel.

I really don't have much to say about the Sistine Chapel, mainly because its overwhelming beauty doesn't leave much room for insightful, cheeky analysis. No matter how many pictures you've seen of it, you haven't seen it. It is truly, amazingly, appallingly magnificent.

We spent some time in the hushed reverence and awe of several hundred fellow tourists, then departed the Sistine Chapel and went into the plaza in front of St. Peter's Cathedral, seat of the Pope and heart of the Vatican.

One thing they don't tell you about Basillica di San Pietro is that if you are male, you must be wearing pants. (If you are female you can wear shorts or a dress.) Also you cannot bare your shoulders. Because I was wearing shorts, I was refused entry. I was perfectly willing to sit outside and fume for a couple of hours at Catholicism while my parents and sister ventured inside, but fortunately for me (and for Catholics the world over) an American couple was trying to unload some makeshift black stretch pants that they bought yesterday from a street vendor, made expressly for the purpose of gaining entry to the Basillica.

It's a good thing I procured those pants, because the Basillica di San Pietro is... well, incredible. My little athiest soul was moved, humbled and amazed at the sheer size of this structure. Something about Italy - the olive oil, maybe - makes all the buildings about 40% larger than you can really conceive. When you go inside, you instantly realize Michelangelo's genius. He has designed a structure whose sheer size simultaneously celebrates and squashes the human spirit.

In truth, though it is large, it is not as large as, say, an indoor footbal stadium. But football stadia are not lined in man-sized marble blocks, illuminated through countless - and I mean beyond my ability to count - stained-glass windows, and built of solid granite. We have nothing like this in the United States. I have never conceived of anything this immense and magnificent. I basically ran out of superlatives after seeing the Sistine Chapel, but St. Peter's Cathedral left me speechless and amazed. It was, and this is difficult for me to say, worth the humiliation of being forced to wear those pants.

I'm not sure how long we spent in the cathedral, but after we left I immediately took off my pants, sauntered over to the entrance (as best as I could in the stifling heat), and managed to sell my pants onto another American (a New Yorker, no less!). After taking some more pictures of the plaza in front of the Basillica, we bought some gelato and walked down to the Castel Sant'Angelo.

This large, squat fortification protected the Vatican and the seat of Christian power throughout the ages. It now advertises nightly laser shows and 24 night-time attractions, most of which are found in the single wine/bar/trattoria located on the top level. We wandered inside and worked our way upstairs through the fortification, taking advantage of the gorgeous views it offered of the Vatican, the river, and the rooftops of Rome.

By the time we left the Castel, we were all very thirsty and hot. There was a nice little plaza near the entrance with all sorts of little shops, including a lemonda and gelato stand. As I ordered two limone, to go, I realized "My Sharona" was playing on the radio, and that the 20-some-odd and 40-some-old Italian guys behind the counter were actually singing along to it. The only note they actually managed to hit was the "whoooo!" right before the instrumental bridge; nevertheless (consequently?), it was extremely entertaining.

We walked, limone in hand, to the Lepanto metro station and took it back to Termini. Our chartered bus back to L'Aquila would arrive at 5:45pm, and we were 15 minute early, so we loitered around a gelateria and it was there that I first experienced the flavor of Melone gelato. Since I have already established that I had run out of adjectives, I will just say that this single treat is sufficient to draw me back to Italy, and enduring the stench of Italian sewers and various Italian men was well worth it because I got to have a $4 Euro cup of Melone.

The bus ride back to L'Aquila was uneventful and warm, which meant that I slept most of the way. We all washed up as soon as we arrived at the hotel, then headed up to the 5th floor dining room. After our amazing meal last night, I was very much looking forward to dinner, and the restaurant did not disappoint. Mom and Amy had risotto with red lettuce, Dad and I had bean and pasta soup "dell'aquina" (sp?). Amy had grilled sausage, I had fresh prosciutto and mozarella, dad and mom had veal chops, and we all got roast potatoes (except for mom, who had the salad). We also raided the dessert buffet and were quite stuffed by the end of the meal.

After dinner we went walking around L'Aquina at night, getting lots of looks from the locals (we were the only Asian people around). The semi-goal was to find an open bookstore and get a small Italian dictionary. We found several closed ones before finally finding one that not only had a good road atlas and a dictionary exactly suiting my needs, but also had with UK and Italian editions of Harry Potter book 5. My sister and I flipped through them and were appalled at the lack of illustrations in the UK edition. We then visited a local Szechuan restaurant where my parents and sister had dined several times in the previous week, saw concert in the main square, and walked back to our hotel and went to sleep.

First Day in Italy

8/1 1:02AM EST, 7:02AM Rome time

My first sight of Europe was sunrise over the Pyrennes. Its jagged peaks split the red dawn light into slivers that disappeared into the clouds and fog in its valleys. I have flown over the Rockies and I have flown over the Appalachian Mountains, but I have never seen mountains like these.

As we descended into Rome, I noticed that all the surrounding land was farmland. No subdivisions, or shopping malls, or clusters of more than 5 or 6 structures. Only farmland, rolling hills, sprinklers. (There were sprinklers watering farmland not 200 feet away from the end of the runway.) And pointy trees! They had so many pointy trees - exactly the kind you would imagine in an impressionist oil painting of the Tuscan countryside. I've always loved those pointy trees...

We landed without incident, and I was 10 feet into the jetway when I knew that something was fundamentally different here - on all the signs and placards and warnings, they placed the English words *on the bottom*. Above them, in much larger letters, they were in Italian! Surprise at this simple fact is going to be a recurring theme, I just know it.

My first task, after getting my luggage, was to board the metro train from the airport to Tiburtina, a big downtown station where I could catch a bus to L'Aquila. I found the train stop without any problems, got a ticket at the tobacconist (all the ticket booths were closed, and this was the "official" place to get them), and boarded the #3 train. The train was a double-decker, and I choose the upper deck - who wouldn't? Well, apparently everyone. I was starting to really worry (perhaps riding in the upper deck incurred an extra charge?) when a tourist-like couple joined me on the upper deck. It turns out they were from France and Turkey, and both spoke English and Italian quite well.

As the train sped us through the outlying areas of Rome, from the airport into the city center, I noticed there was a LOT of tenement housing. Much of it was in disrepair - broken windows, junk on the balcony, laundry and food hanging from various anchorpoints - and many of the apartments seemed unoccupied. Also there were a lot of little things I noticed:
- lots of little mini-cars on the road. Volvos, BMWs, Peugots, not a single damn Chevy in sight. I did spot a Ford Focus though.
- the sketchy hunchbacked old men in the railway stations are very similar in demeanor to those found in Boston, except here they're all Italian.
- the muzak on the train features an accordian
- the graffiti is all in Italian, except for some words/acronyms that happen to be English words (e.g. "HOT")
- actually, most written stuff is in Italian, which is to be expected, except it really shocked me because... well... every written public sign I've ever seen in the last 20 years has been in English (except for a semi-French weekend experience in Montreal), and expectations are just hard to undo.

Riding the train is sort of like a surreal inverse of riding the Boston T: in Boston, when people board the train chatting away in a different language, everyone looks at them with curiosity. In Italy, when people board speaking a different language, everyone is in on it except me. It's sort of like walking into a sypmhony concert hall and finding that not only is there a sweaty Metallica jam session underway, but the grungy teens look at you strangely because you're dressed in formal attire.

I took the train 2 stops too far and had to board one heading the opposite direction back to Tiburtina. After getting out at Tiburtina, I was overwhelmed by the lack of skyscrapers and the massive numbers of busses. From the directions my parents had given me, I was under the impression that I could just cross the street to the clearly-marked ARPA station (all the way guided by P signs and bus icons). Following these directions was complicated by the fact that the station sat at a topologically impossible intersection of streets, drop-off lanes, sidewalks, and busses. The busses further complicate the matter because there was an awful lot of them and no two looked alike (apart from the fleet of shiny, new blue busses parked in a parking lot). I bounced from official-looking person to official-looking person, asking "Dov'e autobus L'Aquila? ARPA?" I was able to ascertain that ARPA was (garbled Italian and a horizontal circling gesture of the hand which I took to mean "this general area") and that the bus to L'Aquila was "over there", namely, in the general direction of some more busses across some more Moebius pavement. I finally converged, in a degenerate-Newton-method fashion, on a platform and a ticket booth. I knew this was the right platform because there was a bus flashing "L'Aquila" in its windshield display pulling out of the station right that moment. Simultaneously relieved and frantic, I tried to flag down the driver but he looked at me like I was crazy.

After waiting in the line to purchase a bus ticket, I realized I had not missed the bus by a minute or two, as I had initially surmised, but rather that I missed it by almost half an hour, which is how long I had to wait in line. I finally got my chance to make the magical utterance "desidero comprare uno biglietti a L'Aquila". This should roughly translate to "would like purchase one ticket to L'Aquila". (In a pinch, you can use it to system test babelfish's Italian-English translation routines.) With the help of a nearby Enligh-speaking lady, I was able to purchase my ticket for the 11:00am L'Aquila bus. I had half an hour to wait, so I sat by the station and took in the sights. And smells.

Honestly, the smells, on average, were not bad. That was really part of the problem - if everyone stank of B.O., I would have developed a tolerance after a few extremely unpleasant hours. It was the one or two exceptionally pungent passers-by that would really knock me out and cause a slight but unavoidable twitch of revulsion. Also the cigarette smoke was something else. When I lived in Boston, I tried to make a habit of honking at the car in front of me if its driver tossed a cigarette butt out the window; if I were in Italy, I would need a second battery just for the horn, or at least tune up the current output of my alternator.

I also noticed, while waiting at the bus station, that Italians are a very Zen people. Cars drive where they will drive. Pedestrians walk where they will walk. Cursory stops are made at the red octagonal signs, and implausibly tall busses patiently rumble along behind slow, noisy scooters, their helmeted drivers symbolizing the traffic bull, transcended.

When 11am rolled around (oh, and there is no such thing as 11pm in Italy - it's 23 o'clock, and what the hell is A.M and P.M. you silly American) I saw an ARPA bus pulling into the station, punctually and well-labelled. I should have felt some brainstem-level suspicion but I was too charmed by all the little Italian men with their avuncular mustaches. I waited for everyone to de-board the bus (debus? debuss? unbus?), then approached the driver with my ticket in my hand and "L'Aquila?" perched pregnant on my tongue, when I realized he was in the midst of a very interesting cell phone conversation. Five minutes later, he hung up, walked down to where I was standing, got up on tiptoe so he could see over my shoulder, and began talking to some station personnel directly behind me. After what must have been a colorful conversation, he turned his sad eyes upon me. "Uh... L'Aquila?" The mustache shuffled and then, a finger pointed towards a different section around the station building where people were piling into a blue ARPA bus. "La (garbled Italian) (garble) (syntax error) (syntax error) (more Italian) L'Aquila. (garble)." "Ah! Grazi!" I ran to the other bus, feeling somehow that it would leave just as I got to its door, no longer thinking about Zen traffic and metaphorical bulls, just wanting to not get hit by the car coming from over there - HOLY SHIT where'd that other car come from and what's it doing turning into this lane - this is a crosswalk and i'm in it and new york state law has things to say about not stopping for pedestria-- ok he's really not stopping, let's run a bit here... ok there's the curb over there.. and... I'm across. Rule #1 for crossing the road in Italy: don't be intimidated by the cars. They will hit you anyway, and they can sense weakness like sharks smelling blood.

I got on the bus, waited for someone to check my ticket, and was surprised that we were underway and no one even bothered to do so. I fell asleep for a while, and woke up an hour later and caught the last half of the rainy ride into L'Aquila. The little countryside villages in the hilltops were quaint and very Italian. The groves of olive trees were, too. And so were all the Italians zipping by us on scooters and Smart Cabrios. We finally arrived at the terminal in L'Aquila and I began looking for how to get on the #78 bus.

The main problem was finding out how to purchase a ticket. The inside of the terminal was quite empty, except for a bunch of foreigners standing around a machine that looked very much like an automated ticket dispenser, except it obviously wasn't one (or wasn't working), because they were furious and without tickets. There was an information window thingy and I tried asking the gentleman behind it "Dov'e comprare biglietti?", but he of course replied in rapid-fire Italian (and not in perfectly-intoned British English, as I had hoped), and I think my look of confusion was so miserable that he stopped mid-sentence. I showed him the address of the hotel on my PalmPilot; I busted out my trusty Parker pen and wrote "#78" in 48-point sans serif; I even got out a ragged 5 euro bill. Nada. I offered him the pen and paper and he wrote down something in Italian; I launched the English-Italian-English dictionary software on my PalmPilot and wrote graffiti far more quickly than I had ever done before. Apparently he was asking me, "Where are you trying to go?"

About 10 minutes later, after much sighing, Palm stylus-tapping, butchering of Italian, and proffering of increasingly large denomination Euro bills (which I swear look like Monopoly play money), I finally got through to him and he held up a 3" stack of traffic token/tickets. I think I was trying to give him $40 at this point, and things were not expedited by the 1" by 8" hole through which we had to hand things back and forth to each other. After he determined I just wanted to buy tickets, he held up two fingers ("due"), pointed at the stack of token tickets, held up one finger ("uno"), then pointed at the wad of sweaty cash in my hand. I handed him one (uno) Euro. He shook his head, vigorously, and repeated: "Due" (point at tokens) "Uno" (point at money). Hmm... OK. I handed him another Euro (thus making "due" Euro, if arithmetic works the same on this side of the pond). He smiled and handed me two tickets. Um... OK.

I got my hard-earned tickets, walked outside, and took in my first bit of Abruzzo air. I gazed at the misty lower Alps and got drenched in the rain. It was absolutely wonderful. The #78 bus pulled up a little while later, I got on and told the bus driver where I wanted to go, and a few stops later, he stopped right in front of the hotel and let me out. I made my way up to the 2nd floor, knocked on door #209, and there was my mom and sister! Dad was still at the conference and after exchanging hugs I unloaded my bags, got out a change of clothes, and got into the bathtub. (There was a jacuzzi, so why not?) It was very nice to relax in the bath for a while, and I took my sweet time.

After dad got back at 2:30pm - I mean 14,30 - and we all got our stuff together, we went out for a walking tour of L'Aquila and some of its finer sights. We ventured down into the main square and saw many churches and chapels. We also passed lots of little shops along the side of the road. The shops basically fell into a few general categories: places to get food, places to buy cell phones, places to buy clothes, places to buy shoes, places to buy underwear and swimwear, places to buy all of the above. Oh, and insurance companies. The underwear venues were very... not so much indiscreet as much as... candid. No airbrushed Heidi Klum in gray Signature Cotton, classic-cut briefs, smiling, beckoning in the window; here the underwear stores have their goods draped haphazardly over cardboard cutouts, as if to say "you know what this is and where it goes, you know what it'll look like on you, if you're not interested, fine." The clothing stores have mannequins with unbelievably pointy nipples. We're talking in your face, abnormal, custom-made-for-alt.binaries.pointy-nipples.poke.poke.poke. Every single one, whether it's modelling a halter top or a sweater, is like this. It was very, very odd, and not the least bit of a turn-on. (Maybe this is what makes the underwear stores look good by comparison? Or is there something about Italian women that I just don't know?)

In any event, the food places are mostly deli/pizzaria/bar (with well-stocked liquor shelves facing the street) or deli/pizzaria/gelateria. I don't understand how so many of the same little delis and cafes and wine bars can sell so much of the *exact same brands* of pre-made sandwiches, coffee, and liquor, but I surmise that the locals must really like eating, sipping, and drinking. This would explain the other big advertised item: fat-reducing pills and devices. In terms of frequency of occurence in store windows, I think the word "cellulite" came third, with "Gelateria" and "Wine/Bar" tieing for first. Perhaps there is much about Italian women I don't know...

We made our way through the thicket of stores around the main square and went to the big fort/castle which served as the main defense for this entire area back in the day. It was very large and very old and very European and definitely neat. However, like most stone buildings here, it didn't do a whole lot except sit there and get photographed. We could have gone inside but it was almost closing time, and it didn't entirely look worth it.

We then proceeded down the winding little city roads and found the plaza of 99 fountain heads (though dad claims he only counted 94). It was rather odd, but kind of neat. Again, like most small plazas surrounded by 90-some-odd stone human heads puking water into a trough, it didn't do a whole lot but puke, gurgle, and get photographed.

I think I will soon have to readjust my expectations with regards to the animation and featureset of tourist sights in Italy.

We made our way back up to the hotel, through windy roads and several hundred feet of elevation. We refreshed ourselves a bit and went up to the 5th floor for a delicious dinner. The language demon reared its ugly head but fortunately the maitre-d' was moderately conversational in English, and we got some great food. There was soup (puree of vegetable), seafood risotto, grilled sea bass, smoked salmon, salad and grilled vegetables. We ate until closing time and were all utterly stuffed. The sea bass was particularly yummy and tender, and almost had a pan-fried taste.

Philly Airport

I was waiting in the Philly airport's new A West international terminal wing, watching Metropolis on VCD, when a gentleman tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had network access. It turns out he was on his way to Amsterdam from San Francisco and was appalled at the lack of wi-fi bubbles and the general lack of knowledge of what the hell a "bubble" was. I told him that I didn't have network access, but I hadn't really checked, and if he had a moment I could fire up KisMAC and check out the local traffic. Unfortunately for us there really was nothing all around, and we ended up chatting for a while. He had recently acquired a 17" Powerbook and was eager to show it to me. He was also into photography (described himself as "moving into professional") and had a Canon G5. We showed each other photos we had taken and he complemented me on several of my photographs - the Bosque del Apache, Crystal at the wall at the meteor crater, one of the VLA shots - and told me I had a very good eye for framing and composition. He even encouraged me to enter some of my photographs into contest!

In any event we talked shop for a while and exchanged contact info, and promised to keep in touch. I showed him Rendezvous and booted in to Panther to show him Expose and the new finder running on a live box.

After he left I gave Crystal a call but couldn't reach her, so I left her a voicemail instead. Then it was time to board my flight!

Flying back to Albany

We got up at 5 in the morning to the sound of Jason knocking at the door. We quickly washed up and loaded up his car. He dropped us off at the airport and we boarded our flight without any problems. We had a long flight back but finally got into Albany around 4pm. We decided to check in to the Comfort Inn near the airport, and after unloading some of our luggage, we headed down to
Grandma's Country Restaurant on Wolf Rd. We had a filling and delicious meal - both of us had leftovers! - and drove back to the hotel and collapsed into bed.

Bosque del Apache, VLA, Salt River Canyon

We got up to the alarm clock at 6:15am and headed out to the Bosque del Apache bird sanctuary. Unfortunately we took a wrong turn and were halfway to the Trinity Test Site (location of the first atomic bomb detonation) before we realized our error. We turned around and got to the Bosque in time to see some of the sunrise, but too late to see the thousands of birds taking off at dawn. Crystal drove and I fell asleep a few times, but overall it was pretty interesting to see the lush greenery amidst the dry desert. We then returned to the Casa Blanca and had bacon, eggs, and fruit for breakfast while listening a little electronic gadget for reproducing bird calls.

After breakfast, we packed and left Socorro/San Antonio, driving west on Rt. 60. By 10 AM we reached the VLA. We toured the visitor center and small museum and did the walking tour of the facilities. After taking numerous pictures, we got back in our car and drove westward. We stopped at Pie Town, NM for lunch at the Pio-O-Neer restaurant. As part of our lunch, Crystal had a slice of peach pie and I had a slice of cherry pie. We then continued onward, with Crystal driving and me napping. We stopped for gas in Show Low and switched drivers. We then headed through the Apache reservation and Salt River Canyon and stopped at several scenic overlooks to take pictures. We also stopped at the hiking/tourist center at the bridge crossing the Salt River and took many pictures.

We then kept driving and pulled into Phoenix around 4 PM. We checked into the Days Inn Tempe again, this time getting room 113, unloaded all of our stuff out of the rental car, and drove to Ra on S. Mill St. (Jason didn't join us for dinner because he was busy getting lost on the way to some hot springs nearby.) We had some amazing sushi (including the caterpillar roll), I had 3 things of sake, and we tipped the waitress generously. We then drove over to the Camelback Mountain Marriot golf resort to return the rental car. Jason met us there and Crystal drove a brief distance in his car (from the parking spot to the stop sign). We hung out at the hotel for a little while, looking at pictures and packing, and then went to sleep for a few brief hours.

Holy Dirt and Raspberry Tortillas

We got up early in the morning and Crystal emailed everyone about our engagement. She also called her mom and I called my folks. We checked out of our room around 9 and headed out to Chimayo to see the Sanctuario. We got a little lost in the pueblos and reservations around Espanola, but we managed to get to Chimayo eventually (at times by following the random people on the Good Friday pilgrimage to the Sanctuario). We stopped at a small craft/folk art store by the side of the road where Crystal bought a small Indian weaving made at the store itself. We then drove to the Sanctuario, went inside, and looked at the coffin-sized box of Holy Dirt. (Sign printed on a half-sheet of paper lying on the soil: "Please, only a small amount of Holy Dirt per family.") We also went to the back room where there was a 12" diameter hole in the ground - presumably the source of the Holy Dirt. We then went to Leona's, a food stand right outside the church, and had a delicious red chili tamale and the most amazing tortilla either of us had ever tasted. Even better, Leona's had an assortment of Raspberry, Strawberry, and Blueberry Tortillas for sale. They were simply amazing. People talk about a religious experience in Chimayo; for me, the crucifix and holy dirt in the sanctuary take a backseat to the tortillas at Leona's.

After Chimayo, we drove down to Santa Fe along The High Road to Taos, avoiding Sanctuario walkers and attempting to heat up the refridgerated tortillas we got at Leona's on the car dashboard. We got into Santa Fe around 1pm, parked near the plaza, and walked over to Il Vicino for lunch. Crystal had the lunch special (pizza margherita, salad, and soft drink) while I had the sausage, pepperoni, mozarella pizza and a sprite. After lunch we window shopped all around the plaza. I looked long and hard and finally found a good kokopelli t-shirt, while Crystal purchased a little white porcelain kitty cat, decorated in the Santa Fe style with a turquoise necklace. We then got in the car and continued driving down to Socorro. We pulled into town around 6, checked into Casa Blanca B&B and moved our stuff into our room, the Heron Room. The owner of the B&B, Phoebe Wood, was away on a trip and her friend Patricia was taking care of the place in her absence. We had some water and chatted with Patricia until 7:30 PM. We talked about the status of the Indian reservations and about "water rights" in New Mexico. She gave us directions to the Val Verde Steakhouse in Socorro and we drove in and had dinner there. (The steaks were pretty good but definitely not spectacular.) We then came back to the B&B and looked awhile at the stars and the moon through my binoculars. Then we took a very bubbly bubble bath in the jacuzzi before going to sleep.

Los Alamos and Bandelier

We woke up around 7:30 and got up around 8 when the housecleaning staff opened our door and barged into the room. We headed to the lobby area for our free breakfast and saw some interesting people with racks of windchimes. We drove over to Otowi Station museum and looked around, then walked over to the Los Alamos Historical Society museum and toured it. The lady there gave us a brief talk about the history of Los Alamos and even told me a story about the Ghost Lady of TA-53. Then I took Crystal through the library, around the pond, and we went to China Moon for lunch.

After lunch, we drove to Bandelier National Monument and saw Tyuonyi (an abandoned pueblo village) and numerous cliff dwellings in Frijoles Canyon. We hiked to the Ceremonial Cave and went inside the kiva there, then hiked down the Falls Trail and took some pictures at the Upper Falls overlook.

We got back in time to drive over to the White Rock Overlook. We took some pictures before the sunset, climbed out to the rocky, sheer trailhead (freaking Crystal out in the meantime), and as we sat there watching the sun set on the Sangre de Cristo mountains, I proposed to Crystal. She was somewhat shocked but fortunately said "yes". After the sun had set we got back in the car and drove down to Gabriel's for an excellent dinner. We both got stuffed but had enough room for a flan dessert. Amazingly enough, we had guacamole left over and brought some back with us to Los Alamos.

Flagstaff to LA

We awoke at 6 to bright white light streaming in through the bedroom window. A quick look revealed that 3 inches of snow had fallen, and that a light powder was still falling. We decided to stay in bed and download and organize the Grand Canyon pictures we took yesterday. We finally hauled ourselves out of bed around 8, brushed off the car, and drove to the local IHOP for a breakfast of Swedish pancakes and stuffed French (er, Freedom) Toast. After breakfast, we returned to the cabin, packed, took out the trash, and checked out.

We drove down I-40 to the Meteor Crater. Along the way, we saw the snow storm front we were leaving behind, and we saw some large dust storms blowing across the high Arizona desert. We finally made it to the Meteor Crater around 10:30 AM, and emerged from our car to encounter the strongest wind either of us had ever experienced. Flags were standing straight out; the Rim Tour had been cancelled due to "high wind conditions"; the sheet metal flooring material on parts of the external observation deck was fluttering in the gale. The wind must have been at least 35 mph, gusting to 50 or so. We got some pictures of the crater from the observation decks and promptly ducked inside to tour the museum and see the short movie. We left the Meteor Crater museum around 11:30 and continued on our way.

We stopped in Winslow, AZ for lunch, hoping to eat at the Turquoise Room. As it turns out, they are not open for lunch anymore on Tuesdays, so we got back on the interstate and drove all the way to the intersection of I-40 and Rt. 180 to the southern entrance of the Petrified Forest (near Holbrook, AZ). As we drove through town, we found a small, greasy-spoon mexican restaurant and had an awesome lunch at a very low price. (I even got to have a honey-doused soupapilla!)

After lunch, we stopped at a small museum store outside the park entrance and then started our drive through the Petrified Forest. We stopped and hiked the Crystal Forest, now devoid of crystal due to decades of selfish looting. This 0.8 mile hike was extremely difficult due to the winds that had followed us from the Meteor Crater. We were having difficulty staying on the trail and in some parts were being blown backwards by the strength of the wind.

After the Crystal Forest, we decided not to do any more hikes and just drive around and see the sights. By the end, we were not even willing to get out of the car to take photographs; the wind was making life simply hellish. Opening and closing the car door itself was a problem; holding ourselves (not to mention the cameras) still enough to take a picture proved even more difficult. By the time we left the northern entrance of the Petrified Forest and merged back onto I-40, we were happy to be on our way and finishd with dealing with such intense winds.

We were originally going to stay in Grants, NM, but since we saw all our intended sights so quickly, we continued driving to Albuquerque. We had dinner at a very upscale but cozy little restaurant (billing its cuisine as "New American") named Artichoke Cafe on Central Ave. We had an appetizer of steam artichoke with three dipping sauces (drawn butter, peppercorn mayonnaise, and raspberry vinaigrette). Crystal had the Five Spice Duck on squash and pear with bistmati rice, and I had a pan-seared sashimi-grade Ahi Tuna steak on bismati with poblano and red papper puree. The food was simply unbelievable.

After dinner we drove north to Los Alamos, singing TMBG and talking about delusional people all the way through Santa Fe. We checked into the Los Alamos Inn at midnight, hauled our stuff into our room, and fell sound asleep.

Bright Angel

We woke up early again (6 AM) and bid farewell to Jason. Crystal and I quickly filled our Camelbaks with water, packed up the car, and drove out to the Grand Canyon. We took highway 180 out of Flagstaff and got some spectacular views of the Coconino Plateau and the Snow Bowl ski mountain. We had a moderate breakfast at the McDonald's right outside Grand Canyon National Park, then drove into the park and parked at Mather's Point.

The view from Mather's Point was simply breathtaking and we hung around for half an hour just oohing and aahing and taking pictures. Crystal initially exercised great caution near the guardrails along the edge of the canyon but soon learned to stop worrying and just enjoy the vista. We then headed over to the Visitor's Center and decided to take the Bright Angel trail, doing the 6 or 9.2 mile version of the hike. Crystal purchased a poster and a book of postcards at the souvenir shop and we proceeded in our car to Bright Angel lodge and the trailhead.

We parked at parking lot D, walked through the lodge and admired the view some more (and saw some condors). We stepped onto the trail at 11:30 AM and started our 3,000 ft. descent into the canyon. Although the hike started ominously (with me almost being hit by a 7-lb rock thrown from above the trail by some little kids), things quickly improved since the temperatures rose as we descended. The first 3 miles of the hike offered some gorgeous views of the center of the Grand Canyon (Cheop's pyramid and the temple of Isis), as well as some not-so-appealing views of mule feces. They need to stop feeding those mules so much hay.

Initially, we had figured the ascent would take twice as long as the descent (in accord with the posted trail information sign), but it was so beautiful inside the canyon and we were so fascinated by the flora of the canyon bed that we decide to continue hiking past the 3-mile marker and only give ourselves 1 extra hour for the ascent. We reached the Indian Garden (4.6 miles from and 3,000 ft. below the trailhead) at 2 PM. We continued hiking for another half a mile towards Plateau Point and emerged enough into the main of the Grand Canyon to see eastward, past the walls of the inner canyon in which we had hiked down. After taking lots of pictures and admiring the beauty of the canyon as seen from below, we reluctantly started on the long trek back. We stopped briefly at Indian Garden to eat some trail mix and refill our Camelbaks, and we started our ascent at 3 PM. After numerous short picture-taking stops, we finally reached the top right before 6 PM - meaning we took half an hour less to ascend than descend! In total, we traversed 6,000 of altitude over a distance of 10 miles in 6.5 hours.

After reaching the top, we headed straight for the snack store and each got a hot dog. We then grabbed a shuttle bus back to the Visitor Center, transferred to the green line shuttle to Yaki Point, and arrived at Yaki Point 10 minutes before sunset. The canyon was simply spectacular in the glow of dusk. We caught the shuttle back to the Bright Angel Lodge, relaxed in our car for a moment, and drove down Route 64 to Williams. Crystal had to drive on account of my drowsiness (as well as my contacts acting up). Her task was made extremely difficult due to a stupid car in front of us that would sporadically and randomly apply his brakes. We couldn't pass him, even though he was going slowly, because he sped up to 70mph through each passing zone. We eventually got the Williams and had a delicious dinner at Rod's Steak House, a historic Route 66 location. After dinner I drove the car back down I-40 to our cabin in Flagstaff. We quickly unpacked, showered, and went to sleep.

Sedona, golf and Corona

We got up bright and early (5:30 AM), ate some P. F. Chang's leftovers for breakfast and loaded up the car. After checking out of our hotel, we went over to Jason's apartment and headed for Flagstaff in two cars. We drove through Sedona and saw some amazing landscapes. (Crystal attempted to capture some of these with the camera as we drove along, with varying degrees of success.) We stopped at Slide Rock State Park and hiked around for a while. The water was very cold (and the rocks were hard as... rocks) and we got a kick out of watching the shocked expressions of thinly-veiled pain on people trying to slide down the Slide Rock. Jason posed some difficult questions about money (I think investing in a house is a very reasonable way to spend $50,000) and I talked a little bit about electric R/C airplanes. We then got back in our cars and continued towards Flagstaff, stopping along the way to fuel up and having a snack at the nearby KFC/A&W (mmm... hot wings and root beer floats).

We got into Flagstaff and went straight to the Beaver Street Brewery and had pizzas and fried catfish for lunch. We then went to the local Target to pick up a pair of sunglasses for me (Jason picked up a socket wrench tool set to repair his sink) and then drove to our cabin (#7) at Arizona Mountain Inn. Jason got out the golf clubs and gave us a golf tutorial, and we spent the next hour and a half chipping and learning proper golf form. As the sky got dark, we drove to the Basha's and picked up some beer and a couple of yams. I lit a fire in the fireplace and put the yams in to roast, while Jason and Crystal got started on the case of Corona. We spent the next 3 hours drinking and talking (and poking at the fire). One of the yams eventually got cooked and I ate most of it. We all went to sleep around 11:30.

Camelback, P.F. Chang, and pointy ears

Today we got up bright and early (7:30am), gave Jason a call around 8, went to the IHOP for breakfast, filled up our Camelbak packs with water, and hiked up Camelback Mountain. We headed up the mountain at 10:20am and got back down at 12:50pm. We then picked up our 2003 Chevy Cavalier at the Hertz (they consider this car "Mazda 626-class") and went back to the hotel for showers and brief naps before lunch.

Jason was too tired to have lunch so Crystal and I went for an excellent lunch at P. F. Chang's. We had chicken lettuce wraps, Cantonese duck, spicy chicken basil, and Singapore noodles. We had plenty of leftovers. Then we went to Supercuts where I got my hair cut my a girl in her 20s who seemed to think that the Lord of the Rings was a nonfictional account of ancient history. ("Every time I look in the mirror now I try to imagine myself with pointy ears... things must have been so different back then.") She was also quite disappointed to learn that her beloved elf Legolas was actually played by a Hispanic actor. (Me: "His name is Dominic something... and he's hispanic." Her: "I just loved his blond hair..." Me: "I think that was a wig, because he has short black hair in the cast photos." Her: "But his skin is so fair...")

We then went over to Jason's and headed out to the Desert Botanical Garden. It was pretty cool, there was a wedding in progress, and we got to see most of the main trail before it got too dark. I learned lots about cacti and succulents (mmm... succulents). We then headed back to the hotel. I went to the shady Mexican take-out place next door and got an awesome strawberry fruit shake, which I finished quickly before going to sleep.

Phoenix, AZ

We left Albany airport yesterday and had an uneventful flight into Phoenix. Since the Mountain Time Zone is two hours behind Eastern Time, and since Arizona doesn't observe daylight savings, our 8pm arrival was equivalent to arriving at 11pm. We each did some reading and watched Being John Malkovich on the plane flight. Jason met us at the airport and drove us to the Days Inn Tempe (we got room 149), where we unloaded all our luggage and unwound a bit. He then gave us a brief nighttime tour of the ASU campus, and we visited his place and hung out until almost midnight.