Greatest hits of tourism part II

After we did the lion's share of our hike, we headed to Machu Picchu. I have wanted to see it since I was knee high, and it was the thing that made me originally plan this trip, so needless to say I was prepared to be blown away. But I was so much MORE blown away than I originally expected to be that it was ridiculous. Anna wrote earlier in her blog that the greatest hits of tourism are greatest hits for a reason, and I have to second her, because Machu Picchu? Zow.

We got up at 5am to head up the road so that we all could have the chance to climb the much higher rock nearby that overlooks Machu Picchu, and also so that we could beat the crowds there. Obviously our hike had led us through clouds by this time, but there's something about the fog and clouds that drift through the round, green mountains boardering Machu Picchu that makes you feel like you're travelling into a story. They've built up a whole tourist infrastructure around the ruins that is initially annoying--you go down a narrow little passage and you get bothered by people telling you to check your bags and show your ID and thisandthat. But the second you round the corner, you find yourself practically smacked in the face by this enormous complex of wonderfully-preserved ruins that cascades down the mountainside into a gorge. It's completely breathtaking. Each one of us, individually, said "oh my god" out loud when we rounded the corner. One member of our party speculated that if you had a tape recorder at that exact spot, you would hear the same phrase, in many different languages, thousands of times a day. Utterly amazing.

So it was a day of playing at the ruins! We took the tour, and then some of us went to climb the enormous rock next to Machu Picchu, while the more height-phobic among us (myself included) ventured off to explore more ruins and find the old Inca Bridge. A day well-spent. I can't wait to post photos.

After that, we headed back to Cusco, where I took what was easily one of the top 5 showers of my life. When we talked about what we were going to do after the hike was over, we were all completely convinced that we would go out and drunkenly celebrate our victory over nature, distance, altitude and cold. But it turns out that a few days of not sleeping combined with dry air and altitude sickness make for a pretty poor celebration. We all had a few beers with dinner, started complaining that we were dehydrated, and sheepishly agreed to call it a night. WOOOO!

We've been in Puno for the past few days on the shores of Lake Titicaca. Lake Titicaca borders both Peru and Bolivia and is the largest lake in South America. It is so large that it actually has a number of islands inhabited by different cultures that have been there for years. We have had endless troubles in Puno--Dan and I both got sick and I have had to do furious battle with Lan Peru to get the to give me my tickets to Buenos Aires, but I did manage to go on an island sightseeing tour today. I didn't have much time, so I chose the most interesting, bizarre set of islands that the lake has to offer. About a half hour from Puno there are a series of islands that are actually man-made. That's right! The inhabitants, the Uros, actually constructed the islands themselves out of a variety of reed, supposedly to escape from the iron hand of the Incas. Not only are the islands themselves made of the reed, but everything on the island is made of it--the houses, the huge boats they use, the furniture... they use the reed to cook, as medicine, as housing, and they also eat it. I am nominating it for the most versatile plant of all time. Stepping on the islands is a little disconcerting--they definitely sink a bit underfoot. It's sort of like walking on loose hay, if the hay were floating on a huge, chilly lake. But people have lived there for eons, so who am I to stick my nose up at it? After the village we visited gave us a presentation on local culture, the local girls dragged me (again, the tallest and whitest person in the group) off and basically made me their doll. They dressed me up, they braided my hair, they gave me different hats...it was crazy. Another set of pictures which I'm promising to upload when I come across a computer that will actually work with my camera.

¨They have killed a sheep for you!¨

We finished our four day hike yesterday and went back to Cusco, land of showers, toilets and temperatures above freezing. All hail Cusco!

Our hike was absolutely amazing. We hike the Lares trail, a trail that winds through mountains past tons of tiny Andean villages and ends with a trip to Machu Picchu. There were lots of things that made the hike an incredible experience. We were just traipsing through the Andes--it was so serene, and we had incredible views of snow-capped glaciers and long, uninterrupted stretches of tundra and mountains. Sometimes we would round the corner and see a gorgeous, icy blue glacial lake just stretched out in front of us. We got so used to just seeing llamas, alpacas, donkeys, wild horses, sheep and stray dogs chilling in the wilderness that by the second day we thought nothing of it. It´s a major tourist trail, so as we trekked, children would come running from all the tiny villages that dot the Andes to stare at us. Seriously, they are engineering some sort of uber-cute race high up in the Andes, and when it finally reaches American we will be doomed. We will be completely powerless against them, and all our domestic babies and our puppies and kittens will go ignored. Our guide Felix had told us to buy lots of little toys and candies for the kids, so we were prepared, but we weren´t prepared for their ability to quickly hide the gifts we gave them in the sleeves of their ponchos, thus provoking intense and violent arguments among them concerning who was double-dipping in the gullible tourist pool.

But it wasn´t all children and llamas. The trail was actually incredibly difficult--probably the most physically challenging thing I´ve ever done in my life. I´m a fast hiker and a good camper, but I was completely unprepared to hike at that altitude, and camp in the cold temperatures we experienced. I don´t think I got more than an hour of sleep each night because it was so cold I would just shake uncontrollably in my sleeping bag all night. I was wearing everything I owned, and my sleeping bag was great, but all for naught. The trail itself was also really challenging. I was afraid there would be a lot of steep climbs and hoisting myself up rocks. The terrain wasn´t like that, but the altitude was such a problem for me that the steepness of the passes left me completely breathless very often. We had to stop practically every ten minutes because we were sucking wind. Not what I´m used to.

The absolute, bar none highlight of our trip had to be the hair cutting ceremony. On the third day, the trail led us very close to our cook Ricardo^s house. As we were passing it at about 10 am our guide, Felix, took us into the enclosure of Ricardo^s house where his yard was and told us they all had a surprise for us. Today was Ricardo^s son´s hair-cutting ceremony (sort of an Andean baptism) and we were all invited! Then Felix turned to us and said ¨This is a very special honor and a very special day. They have killed a sheep for you!¨And sure enough, we looked down into the yard and there was a freshly butchered sheep which two women were in the middle stages of cleaning. I think all of us experienced a moment of total bewilderment (and anxiety) as we watched them shovel the organs out of the sheep, wrap the meat in newspapers, put it into hot coals along with a huge load of potatoes and then bury it in dirt and hay for an hour. But when an Andean villager invites you into his home and kills a sheep for you? You put aside your squeamishness, sit down, and wait for lunch, because it´s awesome.

So we all sat down in his yard to await our feast. For about an hour we drank a local drink prepared for the hair cutting ceremony, and each drank out of one beer (apparently a custom, although i think it was just their way of loosening us up) until the actual ceremony. In the ceremony we each cut off some of the child Gydo´s hair and gave him some cash, making us each apparently honorary godparents. People, I have an Andean godchild! Then the sheep was brought out. They started us out easy with some potatoes, which were pretty tasty. Then they ripped all the sheep meat off the bone and served it to us and I have to tell you, freshly killed sheep cooked in paper underground? Kind of great! We all ate some, someone went on a beer run, and then...Andean dance party. That´s right. They put on music and got us all to get up and dance with them. It was awesome. By the way, it was only about noon at this point. Then we all decided to visit a local school where we were MOBBED by children and gave away the remainder of our presents. By then we were all tipsy and late, so we actually had to be driven in a station wagon to the next point of departure on our hike.

Dan is bugging me to go to dinner, so Machu Picchu will have to wait until tomorrow, but here´s a preview: breathtaking.

By the way, I´m hoping to load some photos tomorrow so you can all finally see the wonderful things I´ve seen, and hopefully get some shots of me shaking it in the Andes.

On my way to where the air is...weak

On our last night in Lima, we had delicious ceviche and discovered I am an AMAZING first time gambler (seriously, we won more than 100 dollars on tables that were mostly denominated in sols. At a 3 to 1 sols to dollars ratio, that´s impressive). A good showing, but we were all glad to leave Lima behind. While I am very grateful to the city for so effectively standing up to earthquake, it was so gray and rainy there the whole time. We were definitely ready for blue skies.

Which we got as soon as we arrived in Cusco! We were prepared to be impressed by even the faintest hint of sun after Lima, but Cusco really is objectively beautiful. It´s small but bustling, the people are beautiful and there are inspiring hints of Incan civilization hidden away in little corners of the city. Plus the children are beyond adorable. We all agree that this is the cutest population of children we have ever encountered. They´re so keenly aware of their own cuteness, that they charge you to take photos of them. It´s sort of uncomfortable just standing around taking photos of other people´s children in another country and then sheepishly handing them money, but we all eventually succumbed. Add to this the bevy of dogs playfully bounding through the street and lovely, warm days and you have my perfect vacation city.

Actually, you would have to add one more thing to make it my perfect city: oxygen. Cusco is at a high altitude and you really feel the lack of oxygen. All of us have little pinching headaches and I now pant with the effort required to climb a tiny hill. I feel like my lungs are being fed the atmospheric equivalent of the orphan gruel in Oliver Twist--just barely enough to keep them going. But we get better every day, and it certainly didn´t stop us from touring our little hearts out. On the first day we took a bus into the mountains above the city and saw lots of Incan ruins, including that giant stone panther that the Incans erected to tell other armies to not even bother. And seriously, if I were an invading army and I came up over a mountain only to discover that the civilization I was planning to invade had enough spare manpower to build a huge stone panther that can only be seen in its full glory from thousands of feet above? I´d retreat but quick. It was amazing and fully awe inspiring.

Cusco is also great because the people are really friendly. Once they get done trying to sell stuff to you, they´re happy to sit and chat about America and where you come from, what your life is like and how it compares to yours. My Spanish has gotten much, much better just from being here two days. Yesterday I talked to a twelve year old boy for a half an hour--I taught him how to advertise his shoeshine business in English and he gave me a refresher course on the past tense. When I see him in the street now we wave hello. Great city!

Tomorrow I leave for my four day trek up even greater heights. I am super excited and, yes, a little nervous. Let´s hope the Andes stay nice and calm and warmish for a while, because I don´t need capricious weather to add to my thin air woes.

Life in capital letters

Now that we´ve recovered from our fears that we would be subject to ruin, theft, and packs of wild dogs roaming the street in Lima, travelling companion Dan and I are trying to plan ahead for the remaining legs of our trip in Peru and actually see some of the city. Both efforts, however, are made more difficult by our new nemisis, earthquake.

First of all, it is incredibly hard to get any actually reliable news about what is going on in Peru because the international news media is far more interested in repeatedly hitting us on the head with exclamations and horrors than offering any useful information. While I agree that yes, it is newsworthy that DEAD BODIES LITTER THE STREETS IN PERU or LOOTING AND RIOTING RUNS RAMPANT ON PAN AMERICAN HIGHWAY, perhaps it might be more helpful to offer us specific information about places to avoid, or places that have been rendered dangerous or seismically unsound by recent developments? Anyone? No such luck, though--reporters seem to be so busy luxuriating in the pathos that they can´t be bothered to shoehorn in a nice, simple rundown of the places where everything is still business as usual and the places we should give a wide bearth. Fortuantely, word of mouth from other tourists is much more reliable. Yesterday we met some Hawaiian tourists who were in Cusco during the quake and they told us the city is fine, so we´re headed there tomorrow morning. So next time I write, don´t be surprised if I have altitude sickness!

Sightseeing is also made difficult by earthquake. Yesterday I took a taxi to the Museo de la Nacion in central Lima, eager for an afternoon of Peruvian history and culture. Unfortunately, earthquake busted some of the windows so it was closed. Earthquake! There were actually a lot of locals roaming around inside, so I considered sneaking in under the guise of going to the bathroom. I ultimately abandoned this plan, though, because I don´t exactly blend in here. I don´t know what I was expecting, but the combination of my blinding whiteness and extreme height (I have not yet seen any woman who is as tall as I am, and only a few men) makes me really stick out. All the guidebooks say you should try to look like a local by walking purposefully and not looking at maps or taking photos, but when you sort of resemble a slim, hairless abominable snowman plowing through the crowd I think the jig is up, touristwise. So I just left the museum, and spent the rest of the afternoon walking around town with Dan. We went to a place called Narky´s, which could only be described as ¨Peruvian Benigans¨ to sample Peru´s signature drink, the pisco sour. I´m not saying anything against pisco, but when I run my own country, one of the qualities I´m going to look for in a national drink is ¨does not contain egg white.¨ The pisco sour falls far short of this requirement, unfortunately. Still, it got me tipsy enough that I managed to lose my gloves, adding them to the list of items I leave behind in Peru (which also includes my copy of Marco Polo´s Travels and some skin off my left ankle).

We have managed to do a few touristy things. Yesterday Dan and I stumbled upon the Parque del Amor. It´s this pretty, Gaudi-esque mosaic park on a cliff above the sea with all these different pick up lines and thoughts about love scattered around on tiles. Dan took note of some lines he might be able to use on Peruvian women and I made a note to watch for any Peruvian men who tell me my eyes have the depth of the sea. I demand that any potential suitors have enough game not to have to resort to taking pickup lines from local benches! Then we met up with the rest of our hiking group and went to an indigenous dance performance in a nearby neighborhood. It was good fun, except at some point the MC caught on that we weren´t from around here (how did he know?!) and demanded that we come up and participate in a big group dance. Dan and I enthusiastically bounded onstage, only to be subject to what seemed to be about 20 minutes of vigorous aerobics and possibly a game of London Bridge. We got a big cheer from the crowd when we told them we were from NYC, though, so that was nice. Then we all went out for some karaoke. I am determined to perfect one Spanish karaoke song during my time here, so we´ll see how that goes.

Today Dan and I blearily made our way to a local monestary that was rumored to have amazing catacombs. I had ambitions of matching Anna, catacomb for catacomb, but when we got down there, Dan and I both simultaneously realized that the combination of recent seismic activity plus confined underground space full of bones equals terror. I barely held it together, and sort of maybe shoved a few teens out of the way as I rushed to exit.

It´s our last night in Lima, which is okay because while I´m grateful to Lima for not succumbing to earthquake, it´s the grayest city I have every been in. And keep in mind that I lived in Chicago for four years and England for one, so that´s saying something. Bring on Cusco and its rich supply of ruins, so that I may be enchanted by them, and then possibly trip over them!

I feel the earth move under my feet

So I was in the middle of my flight to Lima yesterday, spending a few poorly-fed stopover hours at Miami International (seriously, Miami, would it KILL you to keep a few restaurants open past 10pm?), when I heard some news...

I guess I sort of knew that Lima had to be near a continental plate because...mountains, but of the potential catastrophes I´d planned for, earthquake was not really in the top ten. I usually plan for Megan-centric problems, like passport loss, hotel confusion, or concussion. Not natural disasters. When I first heard about it, I was obviously worried-the BBC was doing its full-on "QUAKEWATCH: EARTH STRIKES BACK" thing, and they said people were sleeping in the streets in Lima, that cars were crashing, that the electrical system was down and that generally, fire and brimstone were raining from heaven and it was the end of days. But I steeled myself--I figured I had all my camping gear so I could sleep outside if I had to, I had first aid supplies, I had friends in the area, maybe I could actually help some people who had been hurt--and began stockpiling potable water.

My nerves continued until I landed in Lima, at which point...nothing. Total calm. Plane landed fine, driver picked me up, orderly traffic, water and electricity in order, no sign of panic in the streets or fires raging through the city infrastructure. Everything seems...normal. I know it´s not, and I know lots of people were killed and injured, but I think a lot of that must be further south, because I spent all day driving/walking around Lima talking to people, and things are really calm here. Obviously I can´t speak for the rest of Peru, but I´ll keep everyone posted as I head to Cusco and parts beyond.

I now know what an aftershock feels like, which is unnecessarily exciting. It hit while I was taking my morning nap. I expected terror and falling tiles, but I think it was light, because it mostly felt like I was in the bottom of a flimsy bunk bed and the top bunk was climbing down.

Anyway, other than being delicately perched atop sideswiping tectonic plates, Lima is great. I´ve never been to South America before, and it´s a pretty good place to start. Everyone has been so friendly, and I´m really happy with my hotel (beach--and therefore epicenter--adjacent!) and with the food I´ve been able to scrounge. Plus, now the bar for my vacation has totally been lowered--before I had to have great times and take lots of pictures and make magical memories. Now I´ll just be happy if the ground stays relatively steady.

In related news I have an unsettling history of taking international flights just before or closely after terrorism catastrophes or scares. I hit 9/11, the shoe bomber, and the recent liquid explosive scare by less than a week each time (if they had started that terrorism futures market, knowing my flight schedule would totally be insider information). But I´ve never brushed up against natural disasters before. Are my powers of discord and disorder becoming stronger? You be the judge.

Behind the roadtrip

Hi Anna's Readers,

As my first official guest-blogging act, I thought I would add a few stories to her already-stirring account of the road trip. I'm doing this for two reasons: 1) revealing previously unknown information makes you more popular, and 2) revealing previously unknown goofs and follies (mostly by me) makes it seem even more remarkable that the road trip came off well, instead of ending with us placing a late-night emergency call to AAA or being carried off by flies.

Death punch
Anna mentioned that we started out late on our first official day of the road trip because "we" drank too much of the fizzy gin death punch that we brew up once a year to celebrate summer. That was pure charity, folks. Anna drank sensible amounts of death punch. I, on the other hand, chose a very dainty glass and fooled myself into believing this meant I was drinking correspondingly dainty portions of punch. Not so. I threw up generous amounts while still at our host's apartment (sorry Steve) and then even more generous amounts after the walk back to my place. I was incapacitated until 11am, when Anna ingeniously made me bacon to hurry my hangover recovery. An inauspicious beginning, I think you'll agree.

A kindness well repaid
When we awoke the day after our drive to Maine, we were flush with the previous evening's unexpected victory over Maine's high motel occupancy rate. Plus, we had the prospect of Civil War Reenactment fueling our good moods! But when we drove to the place where we'd spotted the reenactment sign the night before, we realized the actual event was at a place we'd never heard of. Never fear, we thought, and drove over to a nearby house to ask a man outside for directions. Anna popped out and he was so nice and gave us very detailed directions. She got back in the car, and as we were excitedly discussing the directions, I IMMEDIATELY backed into his mother's car. There was *maybe* a four second gap between the time he stopped being generous toward us, and the time I collided with his family vehicle. If it had been a conditioning exercise designed to teach him not to be kind to strangers, it would have been enormously effective. Fortunately, I had been going very slowly and there was no damage. His mother came out to inspect the car and, predictably, could not have been more kind. She even wished us a good trip. Thanks, friendly strangers! I'm sorry I wasn't more competent.

The recruits who brought down the North
As soon as we arrived at the civil war reenactment, we were again overwhelmed by enthusiasm. After funneling this enthusiasm into trying on Civil War outfits and learning trivia, we accepted their invitation to fall in and do some Civil War-style marching. The first thing that was required of all troops and recruits was to stand in two parallel lines and count off by ones and twos. Unfortunately, this was beyond us. I immediately forgot my number and had to ask the woman beside me what it was, causing her to hiss "don't forget your number!" at me at appropriate intervals during the entire rest of the half-hour exercise. Anna also immediately forgot her number. She also asked the people beside her for assistance, but actually confused them and caused them to forget their numbers as well. A job well done by both of us! We both giggled a LOT when we realized we'd made the same mistake. On the plus side, we did get to give three cheers for Lincoln at the end, which I have always wanted to do.

The assault on our ankles
Upon arriving at Anna's great aunt's home in Isleboro, we had some time on our hands so we went for a walk down to the beach. I happily skipped stones along the water while Anna lounged nearby on rocks, patiently listening to me ask if she saw *that* awesome skipping effort. What we did not realize was that Maine, in a stern, New England-like fashion, austerely rejects casual interlopers into her environment by deploying swarms of vicious bugs. By the time we finished our evening of girlish frolic we were both covered in bites from our ankles to shins, and I had some sort of mysterious half-inch-long series of 3 gashes, as if a moderately sized fly had grown T-Rex claws and attacked my arm with them. We were both up half the night scratching, but tried to keep it a secret, because Aunt Mimi had repeatedly emphasized that we were to wear bug spray at all times.

I give into my natural urges
We're both key, wallet and cellphone losers, so it was near-miraculous that we didn't lose any of those items during the trip itself. However, as soon as we arrived back in New York, I immediately let my baser instincts overcome me and locked the keys in the trunk. We didn't discover this until the next morning, when we turned my apartment upside down looking for them and even embarked on a search through the recycling bin (where I thought I might have thrown them away) and my dirty laundry (where I thought they might have fallen out of the pockets). Luckily (again!) Budget had given us a car with a keypad on the door, so we were able to open the door without resorting to a locksmith or (my suggestion) crafting our own slimjim. I actually went so far as to look up the New York penal code to see if possessing a slimjim would be a crime, and I think it might be.

All this and it was still a fantastically successful road trip! We were both immensely thankful for our good luck, and I hope said luck extends to my as-yet-unplanned trip to South America. I head to Lima in a few days, followed by Cusco, a hike on the Lares trail, a trip to Lake Titicaca, and then to Buenos Aires. Prepare for lost keys and minor motor vehicle mayhem, South America!

we'll meet again...don't know where, don't know when

The Daft Punk show was AMAZING. We got there a bit late, and I had to sprint all the way from the subway to the concert, and tripped and skinned my knee in the process. I didn't even notice I was bleeding until after the 90-minute set -- I was too focused on jumping up and down and screaming, "We love you, robots!" I had thought the show would be a bit of a letdown, since my expectations were so high after Coachella, but that was not AT ALL the case. Good lord, do I love those robots and their sweet hott french glam dance pop.

The next morning I got up at five to catch a flight out of JFK, but ended up missing my plane. The LIRR website says it's a 35-minute trip from Penn Station to the airport, but apparently that does not include the 20 minutes it takes to get from the LIRR station to the actual airport. Oh well. The flight I did get on was delayed on the tarmac for two hours, during which time the babies on the plane decided to have a crying party. Fun! In the end, it took 15 hours to get from Megan's doorstep to my own.

But when I stepped outside at the Oakland Airport, it was all OK. California is always beautiful in clutch situations, I've noticed. Every time I visited here before moving, it was sunny, breezy, crystal-blue. People told me about the fog, but I secretly didn't believe it, because California is crafty about hitting you with amazing weather just when you need it. My arrival home was exactly like that. The sun was warm, the breeze was cool, everything smelled good, and I've never been happier to be home.

So we've reached the end of my travels, and thus, the end of my travel blogging. I may revive my interweb memoirs for future adventures, but for now I'm going on hiatus. I'm happy to announce, however, that my ex-roommate and recent travel companion Megan will be guest-blogging during her travels to South America. Those of you who know Megan already know to look forward to her reports from the Inca Trail. To those of you who don't, I can promise that if you've enjoyed my blogging, you'll love hers, too.

So with that, I'll sign off. Thanks to everyone who read my blog while I was away. It helped my homesickness a lot to know you were keeping tabs on me. Au revoir!

the invasion of italy, peanut butter pie, and the new world order

Megan and I had the best road trip EVER. The crazy part is, it was almost totally unplanned. We coasted on luck and street smarts (mostly luck, really) and it was incredible.

After going AWOL from the 3rd Maine's civil war re-enactment, we headed up to Islesboro to stay with my great aunt Mimi. She's 90, way sharper than I am, and full of fantastic stories. For example, she and her friend took a trip though Germany in August of 1939. That's the month before WWII broke out. The trip consisted of buying a row boat, meandering downriver, renting rooms in farmhouses, and having ridiculous adventures like getting chased down a mountain by a drunken Nazi officer. She makes our road trip look lame by comparison, doesn't she? And that's not even her best WWII story! She served coffee at the invasion of Italy! For real! As if that's not enough, in addition to having been in the shit, Aunt Mimi has a great sense of style. She rocks yellow ballet flats like nobody's business. Megan and I really want to grow up to be her, but since that civil war re-enactment is the closest we've come to battle, I don't think it's in the cards.

Aunt Mimi wanted us to see Acadia National Park, but since we knew from previous experience that Maine is full in August, we went inland from Islesboro instead. On our way, we randomly happened upon the A1 Diner in Gardiner, Maine. I feel confident in saying it is the best diner in the world. It's in an old-school diner car, offers five kinds of soup, and the lunchtime music selection includes Thelonius Monk. Apparently it's been there forever, but a gay couple from Boston bought it ten years ago, so the menu is a hybrid of city slicker staples like tofu and diner classics like peanut butter pie. Also, our waiter had a soul patch and is trying to launch a career as a singer-songwriter. The diner could not have been more perfect - my heart almost exploded.

In New Hampshire we stayed at the resort in Breton Woods where FDR convened the international conference that set up the IMF and World Bank. It looks like the hotel from The Shining. Megan and I meant to start a new world order, but we had a bottle of wine and several Miller Lites instead. The next morning we got up and hiked part of the way up Mount Washington, which is beautiful. Verdant woods, crystalline streams, you get the picture.

And now I'm back in NY, and my trip is almost over! Daft Punk is tonight, and then tomorrow I'll be back in SF. I didn't confront the German army or anything, but still, I think it's been a good trip.

things look grim, but the drive-in makes everything better

On Thursday night Steve hosted us for a rousing night of extremely vengeful charades, fueled by Megan's famous Fizzy Gin Death Punch. We lost at charades, but we took home the gold medal in Death Punch consumption.

As a result, our road trip started sloooooooooooowly. We didn't get on the road until after lunch, and it was almost 9 when we rolled into Saco, Maine, our destination for the night. Why Saco, you ask? It's the home of the nation's second oldest drive-in, and we'd never been to a drive in. As a bonus, they were staging a civil war re-enactment at the local high school. Obviously the real question is, Why NOT Saco?

Anyway, as I said, we got to Saco at 9, which coincidentally is the time that all the restaurants close. We then discovered that thousands of other people had also decided to make a weekend of it in Saco, and finding a hotel room would be nearly impossible. Maggie even helped out over the phone, looking on the internet for miles around town, but everything was booked. Our spirits were low, and it appeared that our visit to Saco would be a disastrous failure. Fortunately, the drive-in cheered us up hugely, because it is awesome. You can talk as loud as you want, and they have cheese sticks and really salty chili. Mmmm. The third Bourne Identity movie confused us (Wait, who's that dude chasing him? Why is Julia Stiles so zombified?) but it didn't even matter, because the drive-in rocks so hard. I also think drive-ins might be lucky, because after the movie we stumbled upon a Best Western where someone had just cancelled a room. We were so happy we lept through the parking lot like drunken wildebeests, braying with triumph.

The next morning, we stopped by the civil war re-enactment, which was TREMENDOUS. I highly recommend attending one if you have the means. The Confederacy wasn't represented, because we were in Maine, but our boys in blue made a good go of marching around and firing their muskets more or less in unison. We even got to march with them and try on their extremely sweaty wool jackets. Then their youngest member, a teenager named Jared, gave Megan a tour of his tent and explained what a "gum blanket" is. It was a moment of pure road trip bliss. Now, onward to Islesboro!

false start

On day 1 of our road trip, Megan and I failed to actually leave New York City, or rent a car, or even leave the house before 11. We woke up with terrible hangovers, and then the house we were going to stay at in Vermont with Ginny turned out to be full of people, and everything just kind of unwound. We decided that instead of going to Newark to pick up our car, we'd have lunch at Roy's and then head up to the Bronx Zoo. By the time we arrived, the zoo was closed, but we snuck in by pretending we desperately wanted to go to the gift shop. Most of the animals had gone inside for the night, which freaked Ginny out a bit. She was worried that the lions were hiding from us so they could pounce from behind a nearby rock or soft-serve ice cream truck. We managed to escape un-mauled, though, and we did see the sea lions, a hilarious little moustachiod monkey, and a flock of flamingos.