Here, There, and Everywhere

My Personal Groundhog Day

2017-06-29T22:34:00.000+02:00

One year ago, I wrote the following:

Two years ago, I wrote the following:

We moved to Denmark [...]. It's windy and cold. People are nice but reserved. I ride a bike and am still trying to figure out what life here is all about.
Two years on, nothing has changed. Nothing. It's almost July, and I'm wearing a sweater. My feet are freezing. I'm about to put on rain gear to get Monkey from the kindergarten on my bike. I will smile at people who may or may not make eye contact with me. Tonight I will contemplate what life aftersprogskole is all about. Check back in June 2018 to see if I've cracked the code.

Dad and the Monkey stretch their legs in
Yellowstone; Nampa, ID to Sheridan, WY
Roadtrip June 2015

Now it's June 2017, and again, nothing has changed. I'm still wearing a sweater, probably the same one, and my feet are still freezing. I don't think they ever warmed up. I had my rain gear on earlier today. I smiled at some people who looked almost affronted.

I don't have to wonder why I didn't write this same blog in June 2015, because over the past few weeks, Google has been inviting me regularly to 'rediscover this day' by showing me pictures of what I was doing in June 2015. And what I was doing in June 2015 was sweltering in the heat of one of the hottest Idaho Junes on record--and loving it.

So next year, in June 2018, I will look at this, my Groundhog Day blog, copy and paste it into a new blog, write yet again that nothing has changed, then continue trying to figure out life in Denmark.

Then put your little hand in mine, there ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb, Babe. I got you, Babe.

Two-year Update: We Still Live In Denmark, and I Finish Language School

2016-06-29T15:21:00.002+02:00

I've always wanted to learn a language other than English. After four successful years of high school Spanish with Señora Skagerberg, I thought Spanish would be the language. I dreamed of visiting Spain and of continuing the mastery of Spanish, but then I went to university--and took Japanese. Then I moved to Asia. My marriage to a Dane was the final seal on the fate of learning Spanish.

DU-3, June 2016

Now after two years of classes, two location moves, six different teachers, countless hours of study (including quite a bit of talking aloud to myself), and numerous tests, I have a piece of paper that proves I can speak Danish, reality notwithstanding. I started knowing everything and finished knowing nothing. I started as a stranger here and finished with six lovely friends from Hungary, Ukraine, Romania, and Israel. DU-3, class of June 2016, we did it.

Two years ago, I wrote the following:

We moved to Denmark [...]. It's windy and cold. People are nice but reserved. I ride a bike and am still trying to figure out what life here is all about.

Two years on, nothing has changed. Nothing. It's almost July, and I'm wearing a sweater. My feet are freezing. I'm about to put on rain gear to get Monkey from the kindergarten on my bike. I will smile at people who may or may not make eye contact with me. Tonight I will contemplate what life after sprogskole is all about. Check back in June 2018 to see if I've cracked the code.

Reminiscing: School field trip, June 2014

Questionable English and Killer Drops

2015-11-06T21:59:00.000+01:00

I spend a lot of time using the online dictionary for translation. It's convenient, current, and has good pronunciation clips. Every once in awhile I run across a translation or an example that causes me to raise an eyebrow, and I've started jotting them down for the sake of amusement. Here are a few I've collected:

She is wearing some intriguing underwear.
Their quarrel ended in a fight.
He elevated his eyebrows in disbelief.
She glared admiringly at him.
She glanced at it for hours.
Excuse me, but you are standing on the hem of my frock.
Sight lies in the eyes of the beholder.

Anyway.

I went into the drugstore the other day to inquire about a product that comes in both drop and spray form. I selected a bottle and asked if it was 'drops'. BUT instead of saying dråber, I said dræber. Dråber means 'drops'. Dræber means 'murderer'. Need I say more?

And so my language learning progresses.

I Am an Obsolete Child

2015-05-29T07:36:00.000+02:00

Thirty-five short years ago

This is the first year in more years than I can even remember that I've been home on my birthday, and aside from a few minor details such as the fact that my mom now bakes with oddly named flours and strangely textured sugars, if she uses sugar at all, and the fact that the obligatory cake-holding pictures no longer have the long striped brown and tan curtains in the background, things were pretty much just as I remember, though I'm no longer the youngest one around.

That said, I still feel remarkably juvenile for having been alive for half of seventy years, if quite forgetful, absent-minded, and generally crotchety. People are usually quite willing to forgive the aged these offenses, but being in your mid-thirties doesn't seem to garner the same sympathy as one twice your age when it comes such traits, which in my case happen to run in the family.

My dad, who for a week now has now been alive for the whole of seventy years, has been losing things, forgetting things, and grousing about things for years. As far as I know, he has been in a perpetual state of looking for his keys/phone/wallet/dark glasses, of entering a room and looking mildly surprised to find himself there, of leaving the house only to promptly return to retrieve a forgotten item (see above), or of stalking around while muttering incomprehensibly about some injustice or another since the mid-eighties. Already being dangerously skilled in this particular routine myself, one can only guess what my state will be in another thirty-five years.

A very considerate birthday gift to my dad helpfully pointed out that You're Only Old Once! and concluded with the parting thought 'you're in pretty good shape for the shape you are in.' If I can be in half as good of shape at seventy as my dad is, then I don't mind getting older. To another thirty-five years!

Hamburg, Copenhagen, Good Weather, and I Pass Another Test

2015-05-16T23:47:00.000+02:00

Looking good at 31km

Viking Man recently tucked another marathon under his belt. We took a quick two day trip down to Hamburg at the end of April so he could run, and while we didn't have a lot of time to look around, it was still fun to leave the Monkey with the in-laws for the night and visit a new city--and country, for that matter, because we all know that airports don't count.

De Kongelige Repræsentationslokaler

Nyhavn

I also took a field trip to Copenhagen with Sprogcentret last week. Copenhagen is a nice city, so even though I had seen some of what was on the itinerary, I enjoyed the day's program, especially De Kongelige Repræsentationslokaler. We had to slog through rain for a good part of the day, but by the time we took our canal tour, the weather had cleared, and our parting photos at Nyhavn had us squinting into the setting sun. Home just past midnight, it was a long but good day.

I could complain more about the weather and temperature here, as I am wont to do, but instead I will make note of some very nice, albeit brisk, weather we had on Mother's Day. Our little street of seven houses voted to build a zip line in the forest opposite the houses, and Mother's Day was the work day for that project. VM's mother came and brought Monkey's cousin. Someone pulled a garden table and chairs into the street. There were cinnamon rolls and tea and coffee. At one point, a grill appeared. By the end of the day, the kids were zipping happily down the line. Monkey didn't hesitate for a second and surprised everyone by sailing fearlessly down the line by herself. 'Zip line' is now part of her vocabulary.

Speaking of vocabulary, I suppose my Danish is progressing. VM and I are taking our summer vacation early this year, and as a result, I will miss taking the next module test with the rest of my class. Not wanting to fall behind, I asked if I could take the test a month early, which I did just this past Wednesday.

There were four reading comprehension elements and two writing tasks. The reading comprehension was pretty straightforward. I either understood or I didn't. The writing felt more ambiguous. Did I write to a high enough standard? Was I too ambitious? Did I even make any sense whatsoever? Anyway, I passed, so now I have to look forward to the Module 4 test which comprises reading, writing, listening, and oral components. Three down, three to go.

We leave for the US on Tuesday. It's been two years, and I am really looking forward to seeing family, driving our Corvair, celebrating birthdays, camping, and hopefully some warm weather!

Blog Spring Cleaning: Dansk Progress, Monkey is Two, Fashion Fails, Irondad Prevails

2015-03-30T00:42:00.000+02:00

TV/Midt-Vest visit

In January, my classmates and I passed the test to move to Module 3. Now in addition to our regular classes, we have a group project element in which we make presentations on a central theme. This is a combined effort with Module 4, and we have just begun our second project--Media in Holstebro. My team chose TV, so I arranged for us to visit TV/Midt-Vest, the regional TV station, last week. We were all pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable and interesting it was. We got a personal tour by the redaktionschef through the news rooms and studios, and she graciously sat with us for a short interview. We will give our presentations in a couple of weeks.

In February, I took the first Dansk Prøve, a test which is required for those on 'Family Reunification' visas. There is only one testing location for the entire country, so it was a very convenient 3 1/2 hour drive for us. I'm still waiting for the results, but the test was easy.

Monkey Baby turned two in March, so she's not really a baby anymore. But she's definitely still a monkey. She's funny and frustrating and totally charming. Her English and Danish are both developing quickly which is completely fascinating to me as one raised mono-lingually. Currently trending is 'ikke' (not) with everything:

'Daddy henne?' (Where's Daddy?)

'Daddy's in the living room opening the curtains.'

'Nej, mama, ikke curtains.'

'Well, he is opening the curtains.'

'Ikke curtains!'

'Take it up with Daddy.'

'Time to get ready for bed, Monkey.'

'Nej, ikke bed.'

'Yes, and then we'll read some books.'

'Nej, mama, ikke read books!'

'But you love books!'

(pause) 'Yaaaay books!'

So that's fun.

Påske is everywhere right now. Easter. There are familiar themes of eggs and chocolate bunnies, and the ad magazines are full of offers on legs of lamb and pickled herring.

Easter dresses, c. 1987

This morning my choir sang for the Palm Sunday service out at Mejrup Kirke. Even though I've been to church here before--and to this church in particular--I still decided to wear high heels, dress slacks, and a dry-clean-only top. It must be something ingrained. Growing up, we always dressed up for church. But today, I felt a little out of place in a sea of sensible shoes and no-nonsense attire.

This is not the first time I've felt inappropriately dressed at an event in Denmark, so I'm considering generating a chart which details occasions and clothing options that can be cross-referenced with times of day.

Evening birthday in a garden tent: casual with sweater
Afternoon birthday: nice casual, take along practical shoes for a forest/beach walk
Confirmation with a nursing infant: squeeze into that one black dress and hope for the best
Confirmation at a golf resort: GO SHOPPING
Church: freely choose any of the frumpy clothes in your closet

It's a work in progress.

To finish my spring cleaning, I need to mention my dad. He pops up in my writing now and then, often in conjunction with athletic achievements, and his latest accomplishment is the Melbourne Ironman.

As with his first Coeur d'Alene Ironman, there was a bit of drama. There was a trip to the ER to deal with recurring gut blockage caused by the radiation several years ago. There was morphine and an IV drip. There was a mad dash to the airport directly from the VA hospital. There was a recurrence of bronchitis. There was dehydration. Ultimately, there was an Ironman, and his name is Dwight Schuh.

He finished sixth out of seven in the 70-74 age group, sticking it out to the end with fellow American Richard Weinbrandt who came in seventh with 1 1/2 lungs following a lung infection and surgery in December 2014. To quote my sister, 'Sounds like the old guy division isn't for wimps.' You can say that again.

Sorry you didn't get your Kona qualifier, dad. We still think you're alright.

Driving with Old Men and a Sluggish New Year

2015-01-09T15:26:00.000+01:00

Viking Man tows Monkey through the Christmas snow

Yesterday I gave two old men a ride. It was uncomfortably silent except for brief directions given by one man and repeated by the other. The route was random and meandering. I felt tense and overly warm. When we reached our final destination, I turned off the car and sat quietly. The man in the front seat looked at me.

'Margie, du får et kørekort,' he said. I didn't need to wait for the translator in order to understand that I had just passed my driving test!

It's a good way to start the new year which has otherwise been chugging along in a pathetic effort to take off. I guess the Monkey didn't get the memo about making resolutions to sleep through the night or to get herself dressed and make her own breakfast.

What point of Danish culture should I explore next, now that my driving adventure is over?

Bad Choices and Juleafslutning

2014-12-22T13:18:00.000+01:00

Strange weather these days

On Friday morning, not only did I decide not to wear my ski pants, I decided not to pack the ski pants.

Whatever was I thinking.

I was thinking that just once I wanted to show up at school without looking like I was dressed for an Arctic expedition. I was thinking that since it was our Christmas party (juleafslutning), I could try to look a little bit nice. I could avoid hat hair by not wearing my hat. I could carry my leather purse instead of my ancient Jansport. I could wear a little mascara.

These were all bad choices.

'Bedraggled raccoon in wet jeans' will probably call up an accurate mental picture of how I looked sitting in the Sprogcentret Christmas service in Holstebro Church. Sogginess aside, it was a lovely service. Sprogcentret students nearly filled the church--there must have been several hundred of us.

Musikskole

Back at the school, I stood against the radiator. We played a gift exchange game and ate pebernødder and brunkager and drank coffee. I dried out and warmed up. Then we carpooled over to the music school for a short orchestra concert by the young people.

I caught a rain and hail free window in which to ride home.

I Can't Escape Black Friday, and the Gloom Settles In

2014-11-29T15:53:00.000+01:00

My winter coziness

A week or so ago I went out to Bilka to do some shopping and was horrified to see large posters advertising Black Friday sales. Black Friday. In Denmark. It wasn't just contained to Bilka either. It was everywhere. It has actually become an event here. The black cloud of American retail greed and consumer excess has invaded the peaceful gloom of Scandinavian winter. They could at least have the decency to import Thanksgiving Thursday as well, don't you think?

Speaking of gloom, the sun is currently rising after 8am and setting before 4pm. If it's cloudy, the daylight hours are even shorter. The Danish way of coping is to light lots of candles and create coziness in a variety of ways. I am attempting to do this by decorating for Christmas, playing Christmas music, and baking.

And so life chugs along. Happy Holidays to all.

Day of Tests and Police Stations

2014-10-26T23:02:00.000+01:00

When I got to school last Monday, my teacher popped into the hallway to ask if I wanted to take the modultest at noon that day. I had planned to take it by the end of October, but I did not feel particularly prepared at that exact moment. After my heart rate returned to normal, I decided that I could probably stumble through it, and why not just get it over with?

It was actually a bit anti-climactic, the test. Out of five pre-prepared topics, I randomly selected to speak about just one. Next, I looked at a picture and asked questions about it for one minute. Both segments went well, so just like that, I moved to module two, no panic necessary.

After class, I had to go to the police station to apply for a re-entry permit for our upcoming trip to New York as I had not yet received my residence card. While I waited for my number to be called, I absently read the declaration of consent on the form I had filled out. The warm feelings from having just passed my modultest cooled slightly on reading that I had consented to 'letting the relevant authorities make enquiries about my entirely private affairs'. Private affairs, sure, but the entirely private ones? Anyway, my residence card came in the post yesterday, so now it's irrelevant.

Then after that, I went to another branch of the police to take my driving theory test. Out of seven students, four of us were taking it for the first time, one for the second, and two for the third. All of us were nervous. The test evaluator called us up one by one to take our forms and check our ID. I also had to give him my temporary driving permit.

'I have to keep this if you don't pass, you know,' he said pointedly. I nodded solemnly. 'But never mind, you'll pass.'

The knot in my stomach persisted through all twenty-five questions. Afterwards in the waiting area, we discussed some of the ambiguities of the test. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. I needed twenty correct answers to pass.

The evaluator returned with our tests. He winked as he delivered mine, my little paper driving permit sticking out of the top. Yes! Those of us who passed exchanged oddly enthusiastic hugs of relief for people who hardly knew each other. We commiserated with those who had not passed. One sweet little woman had failed for the third time. 'I think I'm getting worse,' she said, looking crestfallen.

Next on my to-do list: pass the practical driving test, and get through module two.

Learning to Drive in Denmark

2014-09-23T13:15:00.000+02:00

Around 15 years old, driving on a family camping trip

I took my first driving license when I was fourteen. My mom took me over to Nampa High very early in the mornings before school, and I sat in a class with other fourteen to sixteen year olds to learn the theory of driving. Some mornings I would drive with an instructor in a car with two other kids I didn't know. They swore a lot, but that's beside the point, which is that I got my license.

If I want to drive here in Denmark, which I do, I am required to exchange my US license for a Danish one by way of passing a driving test. I could simply take the test and hope for the best, but a failure and consequent retaking is expensive. Therefore, I have signed up for some theory classes to improve my chances of passing the test the first time.

Once again, then, I find myself sitting in a class with other students, non-Danish speakers of all nationalities, to learn the theory of driving in Denmark. We sit at narrow wooden tables that are covered in doodles and swear words in a third-floor room above the pedestrian street. There is a small fridge full of Coke. A few students are only exchanging licenses from their home countries, but the majority are taking licenses and learning to drive for the first time. A high percentage of the students, including previous license holders, have already taken and failed the test at least once.

Our instructor is a kind man and true advocate for foreigners trying to pass the test. As the test is visual with audio, it used to be that you had to bring your own translator. Now they actually provide the audio in English, but those who are not proficient enough still struggle with the speed and terminology. The instructor is not allowed to preview the actual tests, so he does his best to anticipate and prepare us accordingly.

I've attended several classes now, and I don't think I could have passed without any study. The different signage and rules combined with the British terminology make it just confusing enough to invite failure. Terms such as 'shark's teeth', 'give way right', 'standard of the carriageway', and 'built-up area' were all missing from my lexicon. I hope that knowing I have 'absolute give way duty' when I cross a 'pavement' or 'cobbles' will help me pass my test.

Now I'm off to ride my bike.

We go to Cambodia: Catchup #2

2014-09-13T23:25:00.000+02:00

Late in the day at Angkor Wat

Viking Man and I had talked for a long time about going to Vietnam, and in March 2012 we finally had a chance to go. I spent months meticulously researching the trip. I came up with a grand scheme that consisted of going from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi and all the stops in between by boat, bus, and rail. It was a dream trip that would take at least two weeks.

Then we changed our minds and went to Cambodia. I didn't do any meticulous research, I made no reservations, there was no grand scheme. We flew to Phnom Penh with backpacks and a Lonely Planet.

'Can you take us here?' we asked a taxi driver at the airport, pointing to a hotel from the guide book. He took us there.

It was fully booked. Another place had one night available, and one night available at a sister hotel. So we stayed two nights in Phnom Penh. We spent our time at the National Museum, the S21 Genocide Museum, and some local markets. We skipped the Royal Palace for lack of appropriate attire.

'Can you get us bus tickets to Siem Reap?' we asked our hotel. They got us bus tickets, so we went to Siem Reap.

'Can you take us here?' we asked a tuk tuk driver, pointing to a hotel from the guide book. The hotel had availability for two nights. So we stayed two nights in Siem Reap and went to Angkor Wat, of course.

'Maybe we should go to the beach now,' we said to each other. So we booked a local flight to Sihanoukville and took a very bumpy tuk tuk ride out to the end of Otres Beach where we stayed for two nights in a bungalow.

'Can you get us bus tickets to Phnom Penh?' we asked our hotel. They got us bus tickets, and we returned to Phnom Penh. We stayed one more night before our return flight to Singapore.

I have nothing but good things to say about Cambodia. The people were gracious and friendly, the food was fantastic, the sights were remarkable. I loved this trip.

Tips for traveling in Cambodia:

In Phnom Penh, stay at the Blue Lime or one of it's sister properties.
The Genocide Museum is absolutely chilling but worth the visit.
Unless you really love temples, one day at Angkor Wat is suitably mind-blowing.
Do not charge excitedly into Bayon Temple and lose track of your partner's whereabouts!
When traveling by bus, do not put your backpack in the baggage hold next to a moped and an ancient styrofoam cooler box full of fish on ice.
Go with the flow and travel around--Cambodia has a lot to offer.

The Weather Is My Nemesis and Cashew Cheese

2014-09-05T14:50:00.001+02:00

Monkey Baby and Viking Man walk in the rain

I just lived through the coldest August I've ever experienced. My fight with the weather is a big sign that Integration is still struggling to gain a point against Denmark. I do not see myself EVER accepting that wearing a down jacket and gloves in the middle of August is normal. On the up side, I can cycle into town wearing full rain gear and rubber boots and not feel like a complete loon. The Monkey obviously has not lived long enough to know any better, for she actually seems to like the cold and rain.

Fortunately for my sanity, September has been kind with blue skies and lovely warm afternoons.

Language class is finally falling into a routine, and my relationship with the Danish language is turning into one of alternating love and hate. I love studying. I love discussing points of grammar. I love being part of this little group in which we are all fighting for the same thing. But I hate speaking. I hate being misunderstood, hate having to repeat myself, hate not yet knowing how to say what I want to say. I hate the feeling that people are just waiting for me to 'become Danish'.

I went into a Middle Eastern grocery the other day. It was packed floor to high ceiling with spices, specialities, and imported goods of a great variety. Every spare surface and corner had been utilized. It was cramped and colorful and chaotic, and I was surprised by how comforting I found it. It was so--not Danish. It was the feeling of Asia, which I will admit to missing on occasion.

So it then felt very surreal to interact with the Middle Eastern employees in Danish. Talk about worlds colliding. But I successfully found out the price per/kg of sweet potatoes, that lemons were three for something, and that I should purchase cashews from the bulk boxes at the register.

Speaking of cashews, I fail to see how anyone can convince themselves that they are in any way a passable replacement for cheese. Just google 'cashews as cheese' and you will see it's actually quite a thing.

Anyway, the other night I decided to make raw 'alfredo' sauce served over zucchini noodles. 'I can honestly say that I like this alfredo sauce more than standard alfredo sauce. HONEST!' gushed the recipe author. My feelings about it were not quite as effusive. I failed to pick up on the cheesy, creamy, 'oh so alfredoey' aspect of it that was being sold to me. It was more like cashew hummus, which is actually how I think I'll use the leftovers. But we did like the zucchini noodles.

Now I need to get out and enjoy the sun while I can.

Denmark-1, Integration-0

2014-08-11T23:06:00.000+02:00

After four years of wearing shorts and tank tops every single day, my ability to assess weather and dress accordingly leaves much to be desired. Denmark is especially tricky. It's not out of the question for the weather to change by the hour, or even the minute. Today I decided to give the weather the benefit of the doubt, which I really shouldn't have.

After class I did some shopping at Nørreport then left to find black sky and pouring rain. I went back in to kill some time in the book store, then left again five minutes later to find the sun shining. So strange. At least I hadn't wasted more time looking at the selection of English books which consisted of Twilight, Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, Hunger Games, Fifty Shades of Grey, and the new Dan Brown.

Speaking of class and wasted time... I kind of knew the first day back might be a little chaotic, but that didn't make it any less annoying to me that we did zero studying.

To make up for it, I went down Nørregade to the walk-up grill and made myself order lunch in Danish, a scenario I find absolutely terrifying. First of all, I had to interact with other people in the queue as there was some confusion over who was next. Then after I placed my order, the lady asked me to choose a kind of bread for my sandwich, to which I replied, 'Nej tak (no thank you).' Immediately realizing my mistake and growing more horrified by the second, I chose a bread and moved over to pay. In a final slap to the face, the lady switched to English to ask if I wanted takeaway, leaving me to wonder why I even tried Danish in the first place.

Yes, I want takeaway. And a paper bag for my head, please.

Yes, I use words like 'queue'.

When Monkey Baby got home, she ran all the way from the car to the house yelling 'Mama' at top volume.

That right there is worth all the points in the world.

I have holiday and the Potato Parents visit

2014-08-10T13:32:00.001+02:00

During holiday time in Denmark, everything stops. There are no more organized play groups, no more swim classes, no school, no daycare, nothing. I haven't been to language school for six weeks. The Monkey and I have spent a lot of time in the sand box.

On a positive note, the weather for the past few weeks was stunning. It was hot and sunny, and I wore my Singapore clothes. Viking Man started to wilt. I started to feel like a normal person.

In 2006, I moved to Korea for one year. My mom said that if I ended up staying another year, she would visit. I stayed another year. And another. I got married. I moved. It took a baby in 2013 for me to get that visit from her. Then again, the Parents are hemmers and hawers by nature. After my dad's plan to come to Singapore with my mom was thwarted by the stem cell transplant, I wasn't sure they would ever be able to make another decision about visiting. But they did! And they both came! And it was so much fun to show them our life in Denmark. We went to Lønstrup and Skagen, Legoland, Spøttrup Borg, and did some general touring in Holstebro and the surrounding area.

Those two weeks raced by, then we had to say farvel. Monkey Baby looked for Grammy and Grumpa the morning they left, waved and said 'hej hej' when we went in the empty guest room. Boo.

Now the fantastic weather has reverted to normal Danish weather, which means I am cold and Viking Man is no longer in crisis. The Monkey is back in the sand box or on her scooter. Language school resumes on Monday.

I'd better dust off my books.

Photos Album Links:

We go to Tokyo: Catchup #1

2014-07-06T18:50:00.000+02:00

I was going to skip most of 2012 and 2013, but Viking Man complained.

So.

We went to Tokyo in February 2012 for the Tokyo Marathon. Aside from a visa run to Osaka when we lived in Korea, I hadn't been to Japan since I lived there in 2003-2004, and even then, I hadn't spent much time in Tokyo. So I was excited to go.

The marathon was fun. The Japanese, and runners in general, really know how to do a good costume. Viking Man, not wearing a costume, ran well, and I was able to see him at several points along the course. I wanted to see him finish as well, but as it was quite a trek by train for me to get out to the finish line, I wasn't sure if I would make it by the time he did.

I waited and waited and waited until I thought, 'Surely he wasn't that slow,' and then I went to the reunion area where we had agreed to meet afterwards.

I can tell you right now that we didn't think that one through very well.

Take 36,000 runners, multiply by the number of spectators per runner, minus five or six people who had already left, and you have the finish area. It was vast and overwhelming and teeming with everyone but VM. There were large numbered balloons for our meeting convenience, but we hadn't known about the balloons. So I decided to try a 'wait in one spot' approach. Then I tried a 'walk in a systematic grid' approach. My 'slump dejectedly against a wall' approach yielded nothing.

In a final act of desperation, I flagged down a volunteer who helped me navigate a phone book and pay phone, to no success. She eventually took pity on me and called our hotel on her own cell phone. VM answered the phone in our room. I wasn't sure whether to cry in relief or launch into a tirade about being abandoned. VM sounded genuinely sorry for leaving, but it probably had been the best idea under the circumstances.

Later when we compared notes about which costumed runners we had seen (Full Suit and Tie Guy, Hello Kitty Ninja, Tokyo Tower, Barefoot Jesus) and when we had seen them, we came to the conclusion that I probably hadn't made it to the finish line in time. Moral of the story: always choose a numbered balloon.

Some of the highlights:

Shibuya
Our hotel was in this vibrant area, just up the street from the pulsating Shibuya Crossing.

Edo Tokyo Museum
I spent an entire morning in this massive edifice housing the city's history while VM worked in the Tokyo Office.

Asakusa
This was a charming area with traditional shopping streets and a beautiful temple.

Tsukiji Fish Market
One of things on VM's wish list, he convinced me to get up at a ridiculous hour so we could see the market at its freshest. I'll admit that it was worth it. Giant tuna!

Meiji Shrine
The shrine had gorgeous cypress gates, and we saw a wedding procession.

Roppongi Hills/Mori Art Museum/Roof Deck
First we went to Tokyo Tower but changed our minds (possibly because of the price?) and continued walking to Roppongi Hills. Tickets for the roof deck at Mori Tower came with free access to the museum (and vice versa, so win-win for both of us), and we could see Tokyo Tower from there which ended up being better anyway.

Mother's Day and Memories of Korea

2014-06-26T22:54:00.001+02:00

Jeju, March 2008

In February/March 2008, Viking Man went to Jeju-do, Korea on business and I joined him later in a last minute decision. It was a beautiful and unique trip and a fitting way to say goodbye to Korea (see the original post). Ever since, we have regretted not buying ourselves a souvenir dolharubang, a mushroom-like statue made from the porous volcanic rock of the island.

This Mother's Day, Viking Man announced a cryptic present he said I would never be able to guess. When two large crates showed up in the carport last week, I was still stumped. I have to admit that I was pretty stunned to see a giant dolharubang when we hacked open the first crate! Six years and three countries later, we have our Jeju souvenirs.

The packing slip declared each crate to be 400 kg. With one stacked on the other, it looked like a good chance that we now had a pair of decorative crates for the carport. Even my handy Viking had to think this one through for a couple of days. Today, he was finally able to execute 'Plan D', in which he rented a chain hoist, pried a board out of the carport ceiling, manipulated a couple of straps around the statue, then lifted it like it was nothing. The bottom crate followed easily. A quick jaunt on the dolly, and they are now guarding our house and garden.

Thanks to our friend Ho in Korea for arranging the shipment, and happy Mother's Day to me.

We move to Denmark, and I start Language School

2014-06-23T22:47:00.000+02:00

I still have a monkey eating my brain. I've asked her to stop, but she just laughs and throws a handful of squashed brains on the floor. Darn you, Monkey Baby.

I originally started this blog so family and friends could keep up with what I was doing when I moved to Korea. To date, my years in Korea have been my best blogging years. China's disapproval of free speech slowed me down, and I've never really recovered. Whether or not to continue is always a question, but I'm going to give it a go. We've moved yet again, so I have decided to continue documenting my life as it goes 'here, there, and everywhere'.

We moved to Denmark, by the way. It's windy and cold. People are nice but reserved. I ride a bike and am still trying to figure out what life here is all about. Eight years in Asia did nothing to prepare me for life in Scandinavia.

In May, my application for social registration was finally approved. I am now under obligation to 'integrate'. I have a case worker who is in charge of my integration program, and I have to check in with her now and then to assess how things are going.

In order to retain permission to stay, I have to pass several language tests. They are not hard, but I've enrolled at the language school all the same. It's a good way to meet people, it gives me something to do, I'll acquire a skill, and it's free. Good deal all around.

The school has more than 500 students from more than 60 countries. Study is broken down into three different education levels, each with six modules. I have started in module one of the third and highest education level. As of now, I have four classmates who come from Syria, Ukraine, Hungary, and Ghana.

Last Thursday, all the education three modules went on a field trip to Himmelbjerget (Sky Mountain) and the Asger Jorn Museum in Silkeborg. At 482 feet, Himmelbjerget is one of the highest points in Denmark. We 'hiked' to the top and enjoyed the view in spite of a biting wind. The museum was interesting though slightly tedious as I maybe understood 5% of what the docent was saying. Thanks to one of my classmates for the photos. Some blockhead forgot to put the memory card back in my camera.

Borneo and Brain-eating Monkeys

2013-11-12T18:27:00.000+01:00

It has been more than a year since I've written anything. I am pretty sure it is because Monkey Baby has eaten my brain. I had no idea that monkeys even liked brains, but the more I've checked around, the more it seems that brain is standard fare for the wily creatures.

Anyway, earlier today I found part of my brain in a corner of the dining room next to a dried broccoli floret. It appeared still to be usable, so I brushed it off and put it where Monkey Baby couldn't reach it. In order to protect its future usability, I have to use this remaining piece of brain sparingly. Hence, this will be short and make use of many pictures.

We went to Malaysian Borneo with Viking Man's parents in October 2011. The bit of rainforest that is left in Borneo is full of the most spectacular wildlife imaginable. From insects to elephants, Borneo has it all, including more than 1,000 species of ants. Ants! Large and lumbering, small and industrious, they were everywhere. We also saw proboscis and red leaf monkeys, a crocodile, regal birds of all kinds, deer, lizards, a marble cat, and a bunch of other things that I made note of somewhere.

My brain fragment is starting to overheat, so I will finish by making a list of recollections from this trip followed by a slideshow.

I had to deal with Air Asia which is like being stabbed in the eye with a hot poker.
I really liked watching wildlife from a boat.
The orangutan sanctuary was good, but seeing a man of the forest in the wild gave me goosebumps.
The drive to Borneo Rainforest Lodge was long and jarring and totally worth it.
One of our guides saw an animal he had only previously seen in a zoo.
Leech socks may have been overkill, but they kept out the leeches.
Getting up early to hear the rainforest wake up was also worth it (it almost killed me to just admit that).
Viking Man can totally pull off wearing a sarong.

Dwight Schuh, Irondad and how I failed to become a runner

2012-08-23T13:28:00.001+02:00

Harvest Classic, c. 1992

I've participated in a quite a few fun runs and race walks in my time. As a sophomore in high school, I even joined my sister on the cross country team for part of a season. It was, however, an ill-fated stint, and I was compelled to rid myself of that evil before it caused permanent damage. Suffice it to say that I was not an asset to the team.

Christmas run, 2009

Beijing Marathon, 2009

My most recent events have been the 2009 Beijing Marathon 4.2k 'mini marathon', and a 2009 Boise Christmas fun run in which I walked with my nephew and pushed my niece in a stroller. It was just a whole ball of fun.

Since then, I have been very content to leave the running to my husband and family and put my efforts into the part of sport I enjoy: spectating.

This summer, I had the opportunity to ultra-spectate at Bighorn, and then for the first time I got to Iron-spectate for my dad at Coeur d'Alene Ironman.

It was not dad's first Ironman, but I had previously only spectated at one of his sprint triathlons, and this was a completely different animal. Honestly, the sprint tri seemed almost pathetic when compared with the vast scale and difficulty of Ironman (I say this knowing that I myself could not complete a sprint tri). It was overwhelming just to be there, let alone compete.

As it turns out, we almost weren't there. Dad had been in 'let's wait and see' mode for more than six months and had only just made the decision. On Tuesday he was ready to scrap the whole thing and take the loss. On Wednesday he went to chemo and came away feeling great. On Friday morning we were driving to Coeur d'Alene.

There are so many stories at an Ironman--stories of extreme weight loss, triumph, perseverance--my dad himself has a story. It's impossible not to feel inspired by these everyday people who show up to take on the infamous swim, bike, run. But it comes down to this: Are you tough enough? Can you dig deep enough? Are you an Ironman? My dad is a grumpy, stubborn old dude who didn't want to waste his money and who wanted a finisher shirt, but evidently he was also tough enough, and he finished that race like the Ironman that he is. With twenty minutes to spare.

GO!!!!!

Panic attack

One lap down, one to go

Nose to the grindstone

Around mile 70

Only 13 more miles!

'From Nampa, Idaho, 67 years old, Dwight Schuh, you are an Ironman!'

Shortly after Ironman, dad's middle brother and family came to visit. I hadn't seen them in years, so it was great that I happened to be around. We celebrated several birthdays and the 4th of July.

Dad and his brother. 'Why didn't you tell
me to smooth out my shirt?' Dad said.

My Aunt's awesome apple pie

Cousins!

It's not summer in the US without the Corvair

I finished my time in the US with a camping trip in McCall with my sister and the kiddos. Of course it wasn't just camping. Things with my family aren't ever just one thing. It was camping 'and by the way, we're manning an aid station for the McCall Trail Running Classic'. But never mind, I picked up a cowbell and did my part for ultra running. We also sneaked in a hike and a canoe ride on the reservoir.

Next: Borneo, possibly? I think it's about time.

Inspiration at Bighorn Mountain Wild and Scenic Trail Run 2012 and Borneo on hold

2012-06-22T01:25:00.001+02:00

It was my intention for this post to be on Borneo, but as I am now in the US for several weeks without the computer that has all the pictures, it will be on hold for awhile because Borneo needs pictures, obviously.

Note for this post: 100 = 100 miles.

I came to the US at this same time last year, and as I also did last year, I accompanied my sister and some other local Idaho runners to the Bighorn Mountain Wild and Scenic Trail Run shortly after I arrived. I'm not kidding about the 'shortly' either. Due to a flight delay and the consequent domino effect, I arrived in Idaho a full hour before Sister Em picked me up for a fourteen hour road trip to Wyoming.

Last year's Bighorn run was epic in several ways. It was my first time ultra spectating/crewing, and it was Sister Em's first Bighorn 100. The nearly thirty-five hour haul ended with a furious five mile bike ride on my part, ten minutes to spare on Sister's part, and nail-biting by all.

Bighorn 2012: all smiles before the race

This year was also epic, but for very different reasons, listed following:

Sister Em had her first 100 DNF. That means Did Not Finish. Not finishing an ultra run is nothing to be embarrassed about, however. Ultra runners wear their DNFs with pride. Stories of DNFing are told with just as much passion as stories of crossing the finish line. DNFs are full of pain and struggle and usually incredible fortitude. Sister stubbornly completed sixty-six miles before she conceded that this race was not hers to finish.

Mile 13; Sister ran for 12 more hours
before throwing in the towel

Amy King took on the Bighorn 100 and ran like a mad dog not only to attempt her first 100, but to finish it in style. You rock, Amy King.

Amy 'Mad Dog' King powering into mile 82

Sam Collier, aged 59 3/4, brought out his alter ego Gregory to properly spank the Bighorn 100 in the behind on his first Bighorn 100 attempt.

Sam the Man at mile 13

My dad, who wished he could have been running himself, crewed with me and continued to inspire everyone around him by pacing Sam and Amy for a total of ten miles in spite of considerable pain. He is a mountain goat and all around rock star.

Dad and Sam heading out of mile 82

Other local runners Dennis Ahern, Lynette McDougal, and Christie Ebenroth respectively knocked out a 10th 100 like it was a walk in the park, put away the 100 with shredded feet, and had the courage to try again.

Zen Dennis

Lynette happy to be finished

Christie refuses a ride into Dry Fork

And as if all that wasn't epic enough, I once again got to spend several nights with my dear grandparents who always inspire with their quiet strength.

More good times in the US to come.

Corvair road trip - Final Chapter: Yellowstone and my favorite Idaho scenic routes

2012-05-24T10:46:00.000+02:00

‘Yeah, I thought ya might have a problem with that,’ said Rick in his easygoing Idahoan way.

We had been back in Idaho for a couple of days after our road trip, and the series of circumstances that led us to be standing once again in Rick’s shop were frustrating at best. We had just finished pushing our Corvair fifty yards up the road to the shop, and it was not the first time we had pushed it that day. It wasn’t even the second.

‘Yep, once it gets to this point, there’s no startin’ it unless you’ve got an ice pack. Probably shoulda just put a new pump in for ya in the first place.’

Awesome.

Several days later the Corvair had a brand new electric fuel pump. This meant that no matter how hot it became, no matter how stubborn it felt, the car would have to start. I did not have a problem with that.

Soon after the upgrade, we decided a test was in order--another road trip perhaps? Yellowstone National Park was an obvious choice, and as we had just driven nearly 2,000 miles without the electric pump, a little jaunt to Yellowstone seemed like a piece of cake. The Yellow Bomb purred like a happy cat as we zipped east on I-84.

Random fact: U. S. Route 30 is the third longest route in the United States. It runs from Astoria, OR to Atlantic City, NJ. Just out of Glenns Ferry, we abandoned I-84 for a section of US 30 known as Thousand Springs Scenic Byway.

Thousand Springs

The Thousand Springs Scenic Byway is a great way to see some of Southern Idaho’s ancient volcanic terrain. From Bliss to Buhl, it winds through the best of small town Idaho as well as part of the Snake River Canyon. Especially stunning in a wet spring, the Snake River Aquifer seems to gush magically from the canyon wall in numerous (maybe a thousand?) locations. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and worthwhile byway. We reconnected with I-84 at Twin Falls then stopped for the night in Pocatello where it just so happened that a longtime friend of MHH's from Denmark was working on a wind farm.

The next day we continued on I-84 out of Pocatello to Idaho Falls, a rather dull stretch of road, but things picked up as we turned east on US 26 toward Wyoming. I had not been on this particular highway segment in more than ten years, and I was excited to show MHH this spectacular part of the American West.

But forget MHH, I was excited for myself. I knew what was coming and how worthy it was of the delicious anticipation that was building with the elevation gain, that was increasing as the air cooled, and that was singing at the appearance of pine trees. Pine trees! Then there was that first glimpse of the Tetons, those towering peaks of grandeur whose soaring pinnacles bring to mind ‘purple mountain majesties.’ All of this, and we had not even reached our destination.

Ah yes, our destination. I remember back in 1988 when Yellowstone burned. It seemed so devastating and permanent, but when we visited the area with family in June 1989, I stood among the charred trees and photographed little yellow flowers growing out of the blackened earth. They were little yellow beacons of hope for a nine year old who thought that fire meant only destruction. If only there had been hope for my fashion sense.

Grand Tetons, 1989

Jackson, WY, 1989

Grand Tetons, 2011

Yellowstone, I think, needs to be told in pictures. Any words I have will certainly not do it justice, though my pictures might not either. We saw quite a few animals but sadly no bears, moose, or bighorn sheep.

Camping at Grant Village

Yellowstone Lake, West Thumb

Idaho Potato

Water levels throughout the park were extremely high

Beautiful bull elk in velvet

Nice photo, MHH. Next time, though,
could you get a little closer?

It's not a visit to Yellowstone without Old Faithful

Just as I remember it from 1989

Old Faithful Inn and original tour bus

Little calf elk

Mammoth Springs

Hotdogs and chili

Random fact: U. S. Route 20 is the longest route in the United States. It runs from Newport, OR to Boston, MA. On the way, it just happens to pass through both Yellowstone National Park and Nampa, ID, providing a convenient and scenic route for us to get home. As with US 30, US 20 cuts through some amazing scenery, notably the Craters of the Moon National Monument. Also visible are the mountains in the south of Sawtooth National Forest. US 20 was the perfect finish to a breathtaking tour of the Northwest.

A few short days later we were tucking the Corvair in for winter hibernation and bidding my family farewell.

Coming up: MHH's parents visit Singapore, and we all visit Borneo.

Corvair road trip: The smell of pine, how to roll-start your car, and Bend on a budget

2012-04-23T04:50:00.000+02:00

Somewhere in the desert of Oregon, at some point before the Lakeview Incident, our odometer turned 14,000 miles. It turned 15,000 as we puttered out of Bandon on Hwy 42, and I cannot think of a better way to put miles on a car than a drive up to Crater Lake. Except for maybe a drive through Yellowstone, but that is a story for a different time.

Camping at Diamond Lake c. 1995

Smell is a strong trigger of memory. I have a candle that reminds me of my college dorm, some lotion that reminds me of living in Beijing, a fishy backpack that will always and forever bring back that bus ride in Cambodia (talk about a story for a different time!). I tell you, though, that there is nothing in the world quite like the smell of a Northwest pine forest. Except for maybe a sagebrush plain… I might be slightly biased having grown up camping in the forests of Oregon and Idaho, but the smell of pine always transports me to a better place.

I was transported to just such a place as we entered the Umpqua National Forest on Hwy 138. Oh, what glorious air, so fresh and clean, dry and fragrant—all the things I love from my past, and all the things air in Southeast Asia is not.

Not much could have spoiled my piney ecstasy. However, there was a constant niggling in the back of our minds that the increasing inland heat along with the steady climb up to Crater Lake would cause our little car to balk.

Diamond Lake

Mt. Thielsen

Sure enough, at a rest stop near Diamond Lake and Mt. Thielsen, we almost did not get it started again. But then it did start. So we drove straight through to the first viewpoint at Crater Lake.

Drive to the rim

I think it is difficult not to be impressed by Crater Lake. It still impresses me, though I am probably not the best barometer for such things. MHH, on the other hand, is more difficult to impress, but I knew he would love it, which he did. I even thought I had better warn him not to wreck the car as he pulled up to the rim, which he did not.

MHH takes in the beauty

I just had to add this one of my
grandparents at Crater Lake

After the requisite exclaiming and excessive snapping of photos, we decided to make a move for the visitor center, but the Corvair would have none of it and continued having none of it until I really felt quite awkward for all the people looking and snickering at the silly couple with the old car that would not start.

MHH poked around under the hood. Passing men offered their observations (vapor lock, huh?) and random bits of advice. The people parked next to us offered a jump.

The Corvair can't tear itself away from the crater

But the Yellow Bomb simply refused to start. It had a premium view of Crater Lake, and it wanted to stay. Lovely though it was, we did not want to stay, so our final and fairly brilliant plan was to ditch the visitor center, get the car rolling back down the road toward the north entrance, achieve a speed of 20-25mph, and hope that the owner’s manual was right about being able to push-start at speeds of 20-25mph.

I would like to talk momentarily about the expectation I had on first reading the term ‘push-start’ in the context of starting the Corvair. My expectation was that a reasonable number of average people on an average road would be able to push a Corvair to the eventual end of a started car. As you might recall from the Lakeview Incident, in which two people pushing a Corvair on a flat road were most definitely not able to achieve a ‘push-start’, my reasonable and average expectation turned out to be very inaccurate. I dearly hoped that a ‘roll-start down an 8,000 foot mountain’ would be more successful.

If you are the people who very graciously attempted jump-starting a yellow Corvair, helped get that Corvair rolling down Mount Mazama, and then followed in your own car that very same Covair as it coasted in neutral until the occupants joyously waved and honked and gave you enthusiastic thumbs up, to you we are ever so thankful—the plan worked!

Then, not wanting to risk any more funny business, we drove straight to Bend where we ate burgers and used a monstrosity called a phone book to find a room for the night.

Turns out that trying to find mid-range lodgings at late notice on a summer evening in Bend is very difficult, so when we found one remaining room at Budget Inn for $27.50, we hesitated only slightly to consider what we might get for that price before we took it. I will not be writing a five star review about it anytime soon, but we left in good health with our car intact, so I consider it money well spent, or maybe money well saved.

Our road trip came full circle when we hit Burns again on Hwy 20. The Corvair had been running perfectly for a full day. We were happily exhausted. Nampa was only a few more miles down the road, and all I could think was, ‘When is the next road trip?’

Corvair road trip: Les Schwab continues to fix my flats and I get up early for golf

2012-04-07T17:19:00.000+02:00

Washing Walter c. 1999

Did you know that Les Schwab offers free flat-repair for users of their tires? I did. In high school, I experienced their free flat-repair service first hand following the decision to take my 1979 Oldsmobile Delta 88 called Walter mud bogging on the flooded dirt road between our llama pasture and the onion field.

What I did not know is that our Corvair has Les Schwab tires.

Okay, so I lied ever so slightly in my last post when I said we had no car trouble. We had the most minor of troubles keeping air in one of the rear tires, but admitting as much would have ruined my title. Never mind though, it was just a matter of topping up the air now and then and ultimately getting a nail puncture repaired at the Crescent City Les Schwab--for free. Who knows where we picked up the nail, but I can assure you there were no flooded roads involved.

Having completed our redwoods checklist, fixed the flat, and given the car a bath, the M & M road trip turned back to Oregon, this time continuing up the 101 along the coast. The Corvair was running like a champ on full tires, and the weather couldn't have been better.

Port Orford

If you are ever driving through Port Orford around lunchtime and aren't sure where to eat, just take my advice and go to The Crazy Norwegian's Fish & Chips. We went on advice of the man in the information center are were not disappointed. We got seats even though the small dining room was packed, and the lone waitress busted out order after order of tasty fish in an amazing display of fast and friendly service.

Now I love the Oregon coast, but I would be hard-pressed to say that I love golf. Combine the two, however, and you get something that is not altogether unpleasant. Add a cozy room at the Lighthouse Bed & Breakfast in Bandon where the quirky and vivacious owner makes a mean breakfast, and you have something downright splendid.

MHH painstakingly researched courses and chose the highly ranked Bandon Dunes, one of its big draws being the incredible location on the windy bluffs just outside charming Bandon. He had to book his tee time several months in advance to ensure himself a slot.

Of course he had booked an early tee time, but aversion to morning activities aside, I chose to walk the front nine with him. The sky was an amazing shade of blue, but the coastal winds were frigid, so even with the windbreaker MHH's tee-mate loaned me, I was numb by the ninth hole. I did see some deer and a few pelicans, however, and the clubhouse made great hot chocolate.

A post-golf stroll around the Bandon downtown followed by dinner at Edgewaters was a great way to end our time on the coast.

If you overlook the incident in which I very confidently reversed into a parking space at the golf course and ran the tailpipe into a grass bank causing the muffler to droop threateningly, this stretch of trip was also car trouble-free.

Cape Blanco Lighthouse and Hughes House just north of Port
Orford turned out to be closed, but it was a scenic little detour

Hughes House

The sign says it all--how could we resist?

Lighthouse Bed & Breakfast

Coquille River Lighthouse

Bandon Dunes

Downtown Bandon

Next: M & M go to Crater Lake and learn more life lessons.

Corvair road trip: Giant trees and a surprising lack of car trouble

2012-03-25T16:53:00.000+02:00

If you're ever in need of a little bit of attention, take a classic car to California.

We sailed out of Oregon on Highway 199, out of the blazing desert sun and into the cool coastal breezes, mists and giant redwoods of northern California. The Corvair hummed along happily in the cooler air. After a pitstop at the Crescent City Denny's--no road trip is complete without Denny's--we switched to the 101 and took our time cruising along the rugged coast and under canopies of towering trees to the unassuming hamlet of Klamath.

Crescent City

Klamath is located within the Yurok Indian Reservation and is home to such attractions as the Tour Thru Tree and the kitsch yet somewhat endearing Trees of Mystery. The museum of Native American artifacts at the Trees of Mystery is quite good. Though it is quiet, Klamath is a good base for a trip to the redwood forests or a fishing trip on the Klamath River. I can recommend staying at the Ravenwood Motel, a nicely renovated collection of rooms with an above average continental breakfast run by a very kind man who recommended eating smoked tri-tip at Country Market, which we did. Twice.

Ravenwood Motel

Country Market

Our full day of sight-seeing through the Prarie Creek Redwoods State Park started on the Newtwon B. Drury Scenic Parkway. Aptly named, the scenic parkway held many opportunities for hikes and short excursions into the redwoods as well as numerous pull-outs when we simply needed a moment to take in the grandeur. There were also attractions like Big Tree which, no surprise there, was indeed a really big tree.

Where's Potato Woman?

Every parking lot brought a slew of sidelong glances, pointing fingers, and outright inquiries about our little Corvair. Mostly people wanted to know what kind of car it was. Some knew the car and wanted to know the year. Some knew it, loved it, and wanted to have lengthy conversations about it. And then there were the annoying few who thought they were being clever by mentioning Ralph Nader without even knowing why the Corvair was included in his book, or by warning of the Corvair's propensity for gas tank explosions with the rear engine and all. I wonder if they felt clever when they found out the gas tank is in the front.

Around midday, we trundled out to Gold Bluffs Beach on a dirt road and ate leftover pizza. It was a nice diversion from all the trees, but as we were there to see trees, we got back to it at the Lady Bird Johnson Grove. Dedicated to the former first lady in 1969, it is a lovely and peaceful grove of massive, ancient trees.

Gold Bluffs Beach

Lady Bird Johnson Grove

Our southernmost point of the day was Freshwater Lagoon just past Orick. On our way back to Klamath, we passed through a herd of grazing elk and stopped to snap a photo at the Tour Thru Tree.

Freshwater Lagoon

We visited the Trees of Mystery on our final damp and misty morning in the redwoods. The giant Paul Bunyan with his blue ox and oddly formed trees coupled with the mist and bizarre 1950's era signs and recordings created a surreal experience. The panoramic view at the top of the cable car was a good idea in theory, but fog was the reality, so we didn't hang around. As I mentioned before, the museum attached to the gift shop is nicely and thoughtfully curated.

Paul Bunyan and Babe

Mysterious trees

Coming up--Bandon and the Oregon Coast!