blind insight

A Birkie Tale.

Have you noticed? That I don't post much here anymore? Should I scrap it altogether? What do you think?

My latest excuse for being a suckity blog-slacker is that I've spent the past several days deep in the frozen north woods of Wisconsin. In addition to drinking large quantities of beer, eating even larger quantities of cheese, and getting my butt kicked (again! will I ever learn?!) at Sheepshead, the focus of this particular excursion was to ski the 23K Kortelopet, the red-headed stepchild wimpy alternative shorter sister-race to the extravaganza on skinny skis known as the American Birkebeiner.

Thanks to the support and encouragement of my future father-in-law, future sister-in-law, and future boyfriend-in-law (future sin-in-law? hm.), I not only survived the race, I also enjoyed myself immensely and crossed the finish line in just over 3 hours. Meanwhile, Steve was flying down the big-race course, finishing the 51K Birkie in roughly 3:30. The day was crystal clear and sunny, with temperatures in the low 20s that proved ideal for comfortable skiing but chilled me to the bone once I was done. Changing into dry clothes at the finish, I paused to wonder whether I'd be better off staying in my sweat-drenched ski clothes or stripping them off on a thin carpet over icy snow in an unheated tent. I did the latter, and never quite reheated.

Later, in a haze of fatigue and beer and deep-fried cheese curds, it seems I committed to ski the whole damn thing next year. Utter insanity, but Steve is already drawing up my twelve-month training plan and hunting on e-bay for a slick pair of racing skis.

The only significant lowlight of the weekend was the unilateral decision by the proprietor of our lodgings not to make the vegetarian lasagna he promised Steve's mom he would provide for me at our erev-Birkie dinner. Instead, this accommodating host plopped a steaming plate of food in front of me, identified it as the veggie lasagna, then waited while I took a bite. When I gagged and nearly choked upon realizing it was full of pork sausage, he laughed heartily and announced that he couldn't be bothered to accommodate such idiocy as meatless eating.

While I'm not really a vegetarian (more a reformed swimatarian who now partakes freely of fowl), I haven’t eaten red meat or pork for over 20 years, and my body can no longer digest such things. So this flaming asshole's jerk's idea of a joke (or perhaps a blatant nose-thumbing at commie pinko veggie freaks) meant little dinner for me and a stomach twisted miserably into digestive knots. Fortunately, I'd consumed only a small bit of flesh, which worked its way through my system (sorry, TMI) in time for me to fuel my race with delicious Norwegian pancakes at breakfast. But, still, yeesh. Remind me to bring my own block of tofu next year.

We have a winner!

What is it with New Zealand? Surely, it must be spectaculiscious, or your comments wouldn't be running 5-to-1 (or something) in its favor. And you would think that my LOTR-geek sweetie would be all over the chance to tour Middle Earth. But, no. The Kiwi rock climbing is, well, not so much, and as best we've gathered, so is the food.

For a time, South Africa held its own as our top contender, until rumors of chilly waters and Great White Sharks unseated it. Burma (or Myanmar, as you may prefer) received considerable attention, and I hope we will someday travel there together because the itinerary my favorite Asia tour operator compiled had me salivating. We flirted with Paris and the Dordogne, Hawaii, and Cayman Braque, but none of these survived the preliminary rounds.

Instead, after much research, discussion, fantasizing, wheedling (on my part), and hands-throwing-in-air (on Steve's), we're going (drumroll, please) . . . .

Here. And then here. And probably here, too.

The hounds of obsessive travel planning have been released. Italy, you've been warned.

Obligatory mushy-gushy Valentine's Day post

I love Steve. I love his smile, his skin, his arms, his face (whether soft and bushily bearded, as now, or end-of-the-day scratchy, or just-shaven smooth), his smell (but not his farts - I'm not THAT gushy), his butt (he has the best butt!) his silliness, his earnestness, his incessant hypotheticals, his explosive passion for the Green Bay Packers, his ability to fix and build stuff (you should see my new spice and oil racks!!), and his uniquely endearing combination of wisdom and naivete. And I love that he accepts and adores all of me - not just my looks and charm and brains and talent and modesty, but also my painfully bad singing voice, my failed baking experiments, my roller-coaster mood swings, my compulsive over-planning, and my obnoxious nagging about the dishes on the counter.

Several months ago, while I was on the downward curve of a particularly lousy mood swing, I apologized to him for being so unpleasant. He responded, "I love you, and I don't expect it to be perfect all the time." And that's when I realized we were in it for the long haul, and we'd be okay - nay, great.

And it isn't perfect all the time. We are real human beings with quirks and moods and weird habits and disgusting bodily functions (except not me with the bodily functions, of course). But we do love each other, and we make each other giggle (and tingle), and we can turn eating leftover chili and watching bad TV movies into a perfect date night.

And that's what it's all about.

Help!

Darling Internet, I need your help. You see, back when Steve and I first became engaged and launched into the delightful planning of Our Special Daaaaaaaaaaaaaay, one of the first things we did was decide where to honeymoon. Priorities squarely in order, no? But now I realize that I was not being entirely honest with myself when I agreed (readily, and with much alacrity, I must admit) to embark upon wedded bliss by spending a few weeks climbing, beaching, exploring, and eating our way through Thailand.

Not that there's anything wrong with Thailand. To the contrary, I adore Thailand. I spent several wonderful weeks traveling there a few years ago, and greatly enjoyed my subsequent stops in Bangkok en route to other places. I have also visited - and loved - Vietnam, and more recently spent 4 amazing days in Cambodia wandering through Angkor Wat and related ruins (following a trip to Bhutan, where you should all go NOW). From personal experience, I know that Southeast Asia offers incredible food, friendly, welcoming people with a rich and vibrant culture, countless opportunities for adventure, and the prospect of relatively upscale honeymooning on a relatively downscale budget. Perfect, right?

But I've beeeeeeen there. And with other people (twice with friends, once with a significant other). Now that I'm being honest with myself, I realize that I really, really want our first voyage as a married couple to be to a place neither of us has visited in the past (Steve's passport figures little into this equation, last month's Costa Rica trip having supplied its first stamp). More selfishly, I want to go someplace NEW, particularly because my list of must-go places isn't getting any shorter.

Here's where you come in. Given approximately three weeks to travel (either the last three weeks of September or the three weeks between roughly 10/29 and 11/19), a moderate but somewhat flexible budget, and an adventurous spirit, where would you honeymoon? Rather, with those givens, where should we honeymoon?  In providing your recommendation, please keep in mind the following criteria we have articulated for our honeymoon experience:

1) We must spend at least part of the trip in proximity to an ocean warm enough for swimming.

2) Ideally, we want to spend part of the trip rock climbing.

3) We prefer to stay in small towns and villages rather than in big cities.

4) Great food, at reasonable prices, is essential.

5) We'd like to have at our disposal a mix of active fun (sea kayaking, hiking, cycling, e.g.) and relaxation (beaches, mountainy retreats).

6) We'd like at least some exposure to a "very" foreign culture.

Where shall we go? When? And what shall we do there?

I'm counting on you . . . .

Yes, I know I should spring for the digital camera, already!

Again, with the sickness! I am pounding tea, soup, vitamin C, zinc (thank to numerous recommendations), and more tea, and still feel like total hell. The quantities of goop (un-green, thank you very much) flowing from my nasal passages would solve the drought problem in Colorado, if we were still having one. Bleh.

But I promised you bling, and bling you will have. Alas, I have only blurry bling to offer:

Plus a bit of gnarly-climber-handed bling:

And if you look closely at this one, you just might see a bit of blingy sparkle just below Steve's right knee:

For what it's worth, you can see our whole Costa Rica album (me in a bikini! Steve without his shirt on! A big iguana!) here. I warn you, however, that we pretty much stank at recording the magic and wonder of Costa Rica. We also managed to take not a one of my parents, and only two, both rear views, of my nephew. On the other hand, my parents' and brother's photos consist almost entirely of Nathan the Great, in various states of sandy adorableness, so it all evens out.