Friday, August 4, 2017

The Time We Were "Over the Hill"

A lot has been happening in our lives lately and we haven't had as much time to train for Kilimanjaro as we would like, but this is a video diary I put together of one of our longer recent ones:



Other things happening in our lives this summer:

1) We are now proud river tube owners. We saw that you could BUY a two pack of tubes at Costco for the same price as RENTING one tube for a day. So now we own four. We tested them out by tubing the Provo River. Some strangers borrowed our pump and gave us root beer as a thank you. Turns out our tubes have cup holders and headrests so we were floating and sipping in style.

2) Bryan continues to both work on school and go on trucking runs a lot. In the time that's left, he has continued with the spoon carving mentioned in our firework video. He has now carved something like a dozen rustic spoons out of everything from Black Walnut to Mountain Mahogany.

3) I have now shot 2/3 of a short film which I am both directing and starring in. It is wicked stressful and the experience is kicking my trash. There will probably be an entire entry on that later.

4) I'm continuing to work on selling my first novel and now gearing up to start on the second. I've written the first chapter and am now in the exploring/outlining phase. This second one is vastly different from the first and I'm excited to get going on it.

That's it for now. This blog is somewhat neglected, but it's because we're busy living life so I'm ok with that.

Still on the schedule for the rest of the summer before we leave are Lone Peak, Timp, and King's Peak. If anyone has any insider tips for them, let us know! 

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Earwigs like Cardboard and Other Things I Learned from Running a Firework Stand

I was going to write a whole post about this all-encompassing experience that was running a firework stand for the two weeks leading up to the 4th of July. As I was in the thick of it, I couldn't remember my life being any other way than this nomadic, car-sleeping, overheated, underselling existence, but now that it's a few days in the past it almost feels like it never happened. Such a gift in life that time passes at the same rate for bad things as for good things and just like that, the worst is over.

Thankfully, I made a video to immortalize the ridiculous times of our explosive-selling homelessness which you can enjoy below. We did this partially to save for our upcoming trek to Kilimanjaro. You don't have to be rich to travel, just determined.

For non-firework ways to pay for travel, check out my eBook, So You Think You're Too Poor to Study Abroad. You won't regret it.


Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Facing Fears at Angel's Landing

I've always known about (and been vaguely scared of) the iconic Angel's Landing hike in Zion National Park, Utah. I actually didn't know that much about it except that it involved a section of clamoring up a veritable tightrope of rock with only a chain to hold onto and that people had died doing it.

So, what did I decide to do the morning before we were to drive south to take on the cliffs ourselves? Googled "Angel's Landing + death" obviously. And so it was, fueled with the anxiety of names and numbers and queasy google image views down to the valley below that I huddled that night in our queen size sleeping bag in a tent among the sage brush and the sand, wondering whether I would survive the following day's adventure. I seriously could not get to sleep and I'm not usually an anxiety-prone person. I wasn't so much worried for myself as I was horrified at the prospective experience of seeing my husband fall.

I'm learning recently that I deal incredibly well with the actual difficulty of things, but do a terrible job with the potential difficulty of things. When I partially severed my tendon on Groundhog's Day of this year, the thought of my gaping wound and the needles and the stitches were freaking me out to the max, but I was incredibly well-behaved and patient as the doc actually did the stitching. Maybe my imagination is just too active. I should have perhaps listened to the sentiment expressed by both Newt Scamander and Og Mandino (note: one of those is a real person and one is fictional, but both names sound equally made up) when they said essentially, "[she] who worries, suffers twice."

And indeed, when I got to Angel's Landing (4.8 miles round trip, not too bad), I got up the canyons to the part with the chains and thought "THIS is it?" "This isn't scary AT ALL". Unfortunately, I mistook the start of the chain part as the end of the hike, so it only got worse and worse and I later ate my words because it IS scary at all.

Fear is a funny thing. Bryan always tells me that fear and excitement are physiologically the same in your body (pounding heart, rapid breath etc.), it's just your mindset you have to work on. I guess to a degree I believe that's true, but it's so much easier said than done to flip a mental switch and suddenly be thrilled about looking out over a 1200 ft drop-off-of-doom that moments ago made you nauseous with terror. I couldn't just flip the switch, but surprisingly what helped me the most was facing a second fear to cancel out the power of the first.

At the start of the hike I said out loud to Bryan and his sister Sarah, who went with us, "If I meet any German speakers on this hike, I have to speak in German with them. I'm saying it out loud so you can hold me accountable." Now, German was my second major in college. I literally have a Bachelor's degree in it, but speaking with natives just scares the pants off of me.

Last summer, I was seeing Don Giovanni at an opera house in Prague and saw that some better seats than mine opened up when some students decided to move to a different row. Those remaining were a German school group and I could hear them speaking to each other. I thought, "You know, I should ask them if those other people are coming back or if it would be ok if I scooted over." It wasn't difficult German, I knew exactly how to say it. I thought in my head, 'just be confident'. I geared up and lifted my arm up and across to get their attention and then chickened out mid-gesture. The result was that it looked like I'd suddenly done half of a ridiculous dance move/that my muscles had spasmed wildly and then stopped. It was way more embarrassing than just finishing the interaction, but I panicked.

Back to being perched on the red sandstone cliffs of Zion. I should've known when I made my declaration that seeing Germans was 100% guaranteed. People think it's random that I speak that language, but the one language besides English that I have encountered literally every single place I have ever been--from remote mountain orphanages in Thailand to safari lodges in Kenya to Aztec ruins in Mexico--is German. German speakers travel. They just do.

So, suddenly we found ourselves on a section of the hike where we were sort of huddled along a three foot ledge, red cliffs behind and drop-off below. We stopped to let people come down a narrow section ahead (this place is wicked crowded, so there are lots of places you get stopped waiting for people to come down or go up ahead of you). We could hear that the man on Bryan's right, who had stopped for a breather, had a heavy accent. So, of course Bryan (who is not afraid of strangers in the least) says, "Where are you from?" "Germany" came the reply.

I felt the eyes of my companions immediately on me. Accountability is no joke. I literally looked down the 1200 ft canyon in front of me and it's like all my fear cells had to rush to the German department instead. The ledge didn't even seem scary, but speaking up did. "Ich spreche auch Deutsch", I finally managed, "I speak German too". I told them that it was my college major and they asked me where I went to college. They were amazed that you could even study German as a major in Utah. We chatted a little more and then it was time to keep hiking. I had done it! I had conquered my fear!---except then we ran into them like fifteen other times on the hike.
Bryan and his sister being much braver than I.

They would stop for a break and we'd run into them, then we would stop for a break and they'd run into us. Each time they'd make comments or observations to me in German and each time after I responded, I'd spend the next section of mildly treacherous rock climbing just kicking myself for saying the wrong form of this word or not remembering what that word meant. My fear cells continued to just congregate in the German-speaking department of my brain. Even as my hand grabbed for a sagging chain that was ill-placed to save my life if it needed to, or my foot slipped around in a sandy spot and everything was precarious, my fear was totally focused on how I'd said "vielen" instead of "viel" back there. Like an idiot.

This phenomenon of my one fear canceling out the other out taught me something interesting. When you're clamoring across the rock formations at Angel's Landing and you ask yourself, "what's the worst that could happen?" The answer is, "you could, pretty easily, fall 1200 feet to your death". When you're talking to a native speaker of a language you are still trying to learn and ask, "What's the worst that could happen?" the answer is...not really anything. Maybe you'll say something silly and embarrass yourself or maybe someday someone will be rude to you, but I have never listened to someone struggle to speak English with me and thought even a tiny bit less of them for stumbling through it. Having the juxtaposition of the two fears side by side made me think, "In reality, what am I so afraid of?"
Dora Montague, suspended over Zion like a boss.

I believe 7 people have died at Angel's Landing since 2004. On the drive back from Zion, we saw a sign that said there had been 22 deaths on Utah roads in the month of May alone. In reality, in terms of potentially life-threatening activities, we should've probably been more scared of the drive down to the park than the hike itself. But fear isn't logical. It doesn't use good sense, but we all too often hand over the reigns to it anyway.

I've been working on my German in one form or another since I was 14 years old and struggled with speaking with natives that entire time. Why did it take thirteen years and an enormous cliff to make me finally think to say, "Wait a minute, what am I actually afraid of? What's the worst that could happen?" We shouldn't allow our fears to run rampant and go along unquestioned. I think most of them, if we held them up to the light would turn out to be nothing at all, a mouse in a bear suit.

And in case you were wondering, I ended up loving the hike. We sat on the top of the world and ate oranges under a shade tree strong enough to grow right out of the rock. My sister-in-law said an orange has never tasted so good and my husband said his smile muscles were starting to hurt from so much use. Even I felt the triumph of it and the awe and grandeur of the looming red canyons all around us and the greenish, curling Virgin River below.

This is living.

It made me quietly wonder what other unforgettable, life-affirming, joyous experiences lie just on the other side of my fear. I guess it's time to find out.

P.S. That black and white photo is of one of the original visitors to Zion when it first became a National Park. She's just hanging out there sketching like it ain't no thing. She might be my new spirit animal. Which is a step up since my previous spirit animal was the daddy long-leg. 

P.P.S. This is our FIRST OFFICIAL VIDEO DIARY for our Kilimanjaro Training. Subscribe to the channel if you want to make sure you don't miss the next one. 









Wednesday, May 24, 2017

The Latest in Kili Training

Well kids, I bought my official Kilimanjaro shoes. The picture (left) was from our first "break-them-in" hike. We went up Dry Creek Canyon near where we live in Alpine, UT to a place we call Elk Camp. To be honest, I'm not sure if that's what it's called or if that's just what Bryan calls it. Either way it's about 2.5 miles up the canyon. The shoes (with my feet in them) are perched on Pride Rock just above Elk Camp. Pride Rock, I am sure, is just what we call it and not really what it's called. It's a pretty fine spot for watching the sun sink and go golden on the horizon. We went up there just for part of an evening to roast some bratwurst over a fire. Lucy (little dog, enamored with Bryan) came along and was great at scouting firewood with us and exploring. She also walked straight up the steep part of pride rock like a mountain goat. It's possible we underestimate her abilities because she's so tiny and enthusiastic.

We're learning the art of being opportunistic as we prepare for this trek. Bryan, for those of you who don't already know, drives semi-trucks. He doesn't have a regular schedule and that's by design, otherwise how could we keep dropping everything and disappearing to foreign places? However, that also means it's pretty hard to make plans more than a few days ahead of time. As such, we have to be ready to drop everything and hike somewhere at a moment's notice. Say he gets home from a trucking run a couple of hours earlier than expected and the weather is nice? We're probably going to find a mountain somewhere to have dinner in. We have to take our chances wherever we can get them. I have a feeling that that will be the key to maintaining an adventurous lifestyle even once we have kids and a little less freedom than we have now. Being ready to jump at any opportunity.

It's a good mental exercise for me. I have one side of my personality that is adventurous and active and ready to go and can't get enough of new experiences, but the other side of me is happy to just sit and binge Netflix and take long, leisurely naps in the afternoon and call it productivity. I'm grateful to have married someone that encourages the one side of me more than the other. It's often hard to get excited about a daunting hike when I'm not in the mood, but I never regret that we did it when we get back to the car. I'm finding it's starting to require less and less inner pep talking to get myself to do physically demanding things these days. Maybe the more active me is finally dominating. Or maybe I'm just in better shape and it's physically not as hard as it used to be, who knows?

By way of explanation about what Kilimanjaro trekking looks like (i.e. what were are preparing for). I'm starting to get the sense that a lot of people envision very technical, ice-climbing-the-north-face-of-the-Matterhorn type of trekking. Kilimanjaro is the highest peak in Africa, but ascending its summit is, in many ways, just a very long walk. You can summit in as little as 4 days, but we're doing it in 8. We're giving ourselves plenty of time to acclimatize, because the hardest and most dangerous part of the mountain is the altitude. 

Except for the day we summit, most days on the mountain won't be more than about 5 miles of hiking in a day. The rest of the time will be spent relaxing, chatting, reading and avoiding the monkeys. 

There are a few high-ish altitude peaks in Utah, but for now Bryan and I are just staying in good day-to-day hiking shape. Monday we hiked a loop from Grove Creek to Battle Creek (two adjacent canyons in Pleasant Grove, UT--see All Trails summary above). It was so beautiful. You're getting incredible valley views within the first 15 minutes of hiking and there are creeks and waterfalls everywhere.

Ms. Lucy came along. It turned out to be kind of scorcher so I'm glad she had tons of opportunities to lap up a cooling drink. You hike through rock canyons, pine forest, aspen forest and big, sprawling meadows. Something I love about Utah Valley is that if you get high enough on practically any mountain, you find yourself in places that look just like the alps. There's Switzerland in them thar hills! It makes it feel like going on a trip without leaving your own community.


The heat of almost-summer was initially a little overwhelming, but it also meant that, in addition to all the greenery coming out, there were suddenly butterflies everywhere. They were so bright and cheerful, I loved having them fluttering around while we walked and talked. Actually, one of the first moments when I started to fall for Bryan (and we weren't even dating yet) was when he called me when he got home from trekking the Annapurna circuit in Nepal and told me he'd seen a butterfly fluttering around the barren, high tundra there and thought, "hey little buddy, what are you going to eat?" It was such surprising, gentle concern for something so small from someone so big. I loved it. And I loved seeing these Grove Creek butterflies. It seems I'm not the only one. Lucy seemed pretty interested in the one that kept landing on our stuff:
 
All in all, the summer's getting off to a grand start and it's only May. (Oh no, is that was someone says just before disaster strikes??) Having Kilimanjaro to work towards is giving me a great excuse to get in shape without my motivation being something tied up in my personal vanity. I want to be healthy and fit, but I don't want to spend all my time thinking about being skinny or eating less. That's such a buzzkill to me.

Instead, I just keep going on a long, beautiful walks with Bryan (and Lucy). I keep putting one foot in front of the other and enjoying his company and enjoying the day and next thing you know, four hours have passed and I've burned 1700 calories without meaning to. It's kind of ideal.

Still ahead for us are trips to Angel's Landing, hiking over the mountain from our place to Tibble Fork Reservoir, a redo on Lone Peak, a trip up Timp and a backpacking trek to King's Peak (Utah's highest mountain).  

Stay tuned (and someday in the future, there will be video...)

Also, if anyone is local and wants to either recommend or join us on a hike, please let me know. You could spend a morning (or even a whole day) enjoying these faces:





Sunday, May 14, 2017

A Word About My Mother

[The following is a small excerpt from a writing project I did about the women in my family who have made me what I am. I figure this is an appropriate Mother's Day share]. 

My mother says her soul was largely furnished by her mother. We’d tease Mom for always saying things like “oh, just look at these trees, have you ever seen anything so green?” or “can you believe how gorgeous that sunset is?” She’s filled to the brim with gladness for the simple things. When we give her a hard time for it, she always just says, “I got it from my mother.”

Something else that her mother taught her was that she could do anything that she put her mind to. And the reason her mother knew that? Because her father told her that she could do anything. He literally stopped the wagon they were traveling in and made sure she knew that she was capable and that she could do or be anything that she wanted.
For the early part of her life, my mother interpreted that to mean joining every club, being the president of every organization, getting straight As in all her years of schooling (except one B+ in 8th grade health class under the mysterious subcategory of ‘citizenship’).

This mentality took her through a series of competitions all the way to the National College Queen pageant held in West Palm Beach, Florida in 1969 during her sophomore year of college. The look of shock on her face (as pictured in the newspaper) when a girl who considered herself a little too tall and a little too smart first got named the Homecoming Queen of the University of Utah, must have carried over as she was later named Miss Utah College Queen. The next step was flying eastward to Florida and even to Washington, D.C. for a day to meet “Mrs. Richard Nixon.”

I know what you’re picturing now, my mother the beauty queen. She is gorgeous, but she is also grounded and intelligent and insightful and one of the least superficial women I’ve ever known.
The winner of the National Pageant would get a car, an all-expenses-paid trip to Europe, and a college scholarship. The first runner-up would get three typewriters. Guess which prize my Mom took home?

The typewriters were a poetic award actually, in light of the way she’s spent her life since then. In raising her children, my mother had great desires that we would each (or at least a few of us) develop musical prowess that she wished she had developed in herself. She took us to years of piano lessons trying to make us what she wasn’t, and instead we each became what she was---a writer.

When I sat in my apartment in New York City in the fall of 2014, I couldn’t help thinking of her in the early years of her marriage living in Chicago; a girl from Midvale, Utah tackling the big city. She graduated from Harvard with a Master’s in English Education and taught one year of high school before deciding that it was not for her. She felt constrained by bells that rang and things she had to do.

She wanted to be a writer. She felt like a child posing as an adult too by just boldly saying, “I am a writer, this is what I do for a living,” but she was determined. She started making calls and knocking doors. Lots of big companies were based in Chicago then, Encyclopedia Britannica, McGraw Hill, not to mention all the newspapers. But she was an unknown, and to add to that challenge, she wasn’t in a position to accept a full-time job. She was already expecting a baby. So, she was in the market for freelance work and had no idea where to find it.

It found her.

After months of looking, she was in the hallway of her Mormon church building one day, cleaning up after an event, when the public phone on the wall started ringing. She picked it up and it was none other than the Chicago Sun Times looking to do an article on Mormon women. Without hesitation, she said, “I’m a writer. I’ll do that article.”

I can’t imagine the gumption it took to live the life she did in Chicago and since then. She said that when each of her babies turned two, she’d just want another one. And she continued to write. She’d write with a newborn in her lap, then a toddler. She says, “I got great rhythm in my writing because I was always bouncing someone on my knee.”

It was an unpopular path to take. This was the mid-1970s when women in America were taking great pride in striking out into the work force, and she felt their stares as she would come into the newspaper offices with a toddler in tow to pick up her next assignment.

Their eyes said having a baby meant she had sold out. Having two babies nineteen months apart? She must be stupid.

I’m glad she didn’t heed their judgments. And that she kept having babies because it would take quite a few more before she got to me. I’m number ten.

It’s only been since leaving home that I’ve developed any anxieties about how having children ends your life or ends your career. And it’s only now that I’m seeing why it had previously never seemed like an issue to me. I was raised by a mother who refused to let her life end, because she was raised by a mother who refused to let her life end. Within three months of the loss of her beloved husband, my Nana put in to run for the school board and was elected president. She served on that board (and a few others) for 20 years.


My mother didn’t let having babies slow her down because she was investing in a lifelong pursuit, both with us and with her writing. She wasn’t expecting immediate acclaim and assuming that if she didn’t find it, she should probably just quit. She knew she was talented, she knew she had more to learn, and she’s spent her whole life continuing to learn it whenever and however she could. 

She made me believe that I can do that. I don't know if I will become a New York Times Bestselling author by 30, but I can write. And find time between times and set aside time, and keep writing.

[It's a glimpse more than a proper tribute, but I sure love my best friend/mother. I put together an article for Meridian about mother-related videos and the one below was by far my favorite. It got me all teary and though I'm no Olympian, my mother has certainly been one of the major reasons for any success I've found in life so far]


Friday, May 5, 2017

Six Must-Eat Foods in Barcelona

I already wrote a post below about a recent trip my husband and I took to Barcelona. (Check it out if you want). The trip was an ongoing exercise in finding activities to enjoy together since we’re quite different in our travel tastes and we arrived in Spain with essentially no plans.

We may not have identical preferences, but one thing we are both very passionate about in life is FOOD.

No matter where we went in Barcelona and the surrounding coastal towns, there was delicious food to be had and after lots and lots of eating—here are six foods I would highly recommend for anyone’s Spanish vacation.

1. TAPAS 
Tapas have sort of made their way to the United States, so you may have already tried them. More likely, you’ve started hearing them mentioned in movies and TV a bunch and not actually tried them yourself. That was me. Tapas are essentially a delicious array of hot and cold appetizers and snacks. They can be anything from cured meats to olives to croquettes to fish to meatballs to seriously anything. Fried cheeses make the list—I find that if you nibble on the edge of something bite-sized, warm and breaded and a river of cheese pours out, all seems basically right with the world. 

FYI, this is the one stock photo in this post. I was too busy eating the Tapas to photograph them...
Also, if you're not an olive fan, try a few of the different kinds anyway. I'm not the world's biggest green olive person, but we had some tiny, salted green olives that were "Please sir, can I have some more?" good. 

Tapas are available essentially everywhere hot food is sold. There are tapas bars, tapas buffets, tapas to go and tapas with a Flamenco show. The trouble won’t be finding them, it will be deciding which ones to try once you do.

2. PAELLA
Here’s what I have to say about paella. It’s on the list, not because I loved it, but because it’s everywhere and it’s an essential part of the Spanish cuisine experience. You cannot visit Spain and not try it. It’s also on the list though because part of the reason I didn’t like the paella that I had was because I picked what I perceived to be the most authentic kind rather than the kind that appealed the most to me. Trying the real-deal foods of any place you visit is important and a big part of the fun, but it’s ok to choose the variety that sound delicious to you rather than just choosing what seems the most authentic.



Mr. B and I shared a giant pot of the most cultural-looking paella on the menu, which was (almost literally) crawling with sea creatures. We’re both a little obsessed with chorizo and kind of so-so on things that still have their legs, but we skipped the chorizo in favor of what seemed more “authentic” to us. We should’ve chosen what sounded good. Always be ready to branch out and try new things, but you also know what you like—choose the paella that gets you excited.

3. PATATAS BRAVAS
So, I’m cheating a little here. Patatas Bravas are technically also tapas, but they need their own category because they’re just too good. We actually only had them once and it was sort of accidentally, a restaurateur gave them to us for free while we waited for the food we ordered to be ready. We wouldn’t have known to order them, but now I’m telling you so that you will know. Order them. Patatas Bravas are essentially potatoes (sometimes cut like fries and sometimes cut like wedges) that are boiled in salt and then deep-fried. They are then served with a spicy red pepper or tomato sauce and a garlic aioli drizzled overtop. As I describe them, they kind of just sound like fries. They are so much more. Must to try for yourself.

4. "WORLD'S FINEST STRAWBERRIES"
On our biking tour of the countryside (three days long), we stayed for a night in a seaside town called Sant Pol de Mar. We were in an AirBnB with a gravel-voiced smiling lady who spoke no English, and her hyper French bulldog named ‘Happy.’ We asked her advice about dinner spots in town in our broken Spanish and she answered with her phone’s Google translate that we could check online. We were there in the off season so nearly nothing was open. We figured instead of choosing a place online and then finding it closed once we got there in person, we would just walk out the front door and follow our hearts.

Now Bryan’s heart map is usually astonishingly accurate. Mine is a little less trustworthy. In this case, we both followed our hearts along the railroad tracks through the purple and pink light of the setting sun, enjoying the peaceful walk and the pleasant sea breeze and then finally found…nothing. We got to the end of town and did not see a single restaurant. We stopped to decide where to go next and happened to spot a sign that said that this town was the “home of the world’s finest strawberries.”



Bold claim, but we ended up buying local strawberries every chance we got the rest of the trip and each batch really was very fine. They’re much sweeter and softer than in the U.S. and certainly worth tasting. While you’re at it, taste the kiwis. They have surprisingly delicious kiwis, also grown right there in the coastal region.

5.  PASTRY 
We finally did find someplace to eat in Sant Pol de Mar. Moments after we saw that sign, we ran into our host out on an evening walk with Happy. She still didn’t have a recommendation, but she had us follow her to the part of town where our heart maps—if they were accurate—would’ve led us for food options. She left us then to take Happy home and we continued to search street after street of mostly closed restaurants for a place to eat dinner. We passed a tiny bakery and, afraid that we might not find anything else, stopped in to buy some “just in case” pastries.

Now, it’s possible that Spain hasn’t much been known for its pastry because it gets overshadowed by its famous pastry neighbors: France, Italy and even Austria (where croissants are actually from—Google it). But whether by borrowed techniques or originality, Spain certainly holds its own in terms of baked goods. That night we bought a giant “just in case” pastry in the shape of, and nearly the size of, a Christmas wreath. It was flaky and crème-filled and topped with roasted almonds. It was so delicious that we went back and bought another before the night was out. We also tried coconut tarts, meringues (which in Spain is pronounced like the latin dance), croissants and a rolled sponge sort of thing we affectionately called a “ Spanish street twinkie" (see lower shelf in the picture). 

The point is, don’t let the flood of olives and meats and the paella make you think Spain doesn’t have desserts worth tasting. 

6. EMPANADAS 
That said, if you can choose only one bready thing to partake of on your Spanish vacation, let it be an empanada. Let it be three empanadas, or ten. We fell so in love with empanadas that we came home and took a cooking class on how to make them. It’s amazing that a little dough pocket could be the canvas for such masterpieces, masterpieces that at one restaurant literally brought me to the edge of tears.
Muns is an Argentinean-style empanada restaurant with three locations in Barcelona. They have rows and rows of them and once you know which flavors you want, they heat them up for you and brand them with a number—so you know which empanada is which flavor.  They come out the absolute perfect temperature, I don’t know how they do it. I tried three flavors: 1) Goat cheese, caramelized onions and walnuts, 2) Spinach and emmental cheese, and 3) Tomato and mozzarella. They have three sauces for your empanadas and somehow the stars aligned and I chose the perfect sauce for each flavor, even though I was basically going off smell/my heart map. My heart map was redeemed! The textures and combinations of flavors combined with that perfect heat made me a customer for life (if I ever go back to Barcelona). The place is more expensive than the empanadas at regular bakeries (which are also good), but they have happy hour discounts in the mid afternoon so have a late lunch, or three.

Anyone reading this who has been to Spain, do we have the same favorites? Did I miss one of yours?

Leave a comment below!


Friday, April 28, 2017

A Bird and a Fish in Barcelona


I wrote an article for Meridian Magazine on reconciling vastly different interests and tastes in marriage and in travel. You can click here to read it or click on the picture below. Bryan and I are pretty different, but something we really share in travel is a deep and abiding love of FOOD. I was going to try and incorporate that somewhere in the article, but there was literally too much to say about all the things we ate and loved in Spain. 

As such, there will be a forthcoming post exclusively about our experience with Spanish cuisine from our hunt for the what are allegedly the "world's finest strawberries" to empanadas that were so delicious, I nearly wept. 

Stay tuned. 


Sunday, April 23, 2017

My Land of Beyond

Mr. Bryan and I went on our first official training hike for Kilimanjaro yesterday. We are taking on Africa's tallest peak in September so this will be a summer of hiking in preparation. As we hiked a section of Utah's Lone Peak trail, Bryan helped me to memorize The Land of Beyond by Robert Service. He said each line and had me repeat and the further in we got, the more feeling he added, and gestures and the view down into Utah Valley was stunning and I could see that Land of Beyond and this poem so perfectly captures my feelings toward life right now, I have to share it:

Have you ever heard of the Land of Beyond,
That dream at the gates of the day?
Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies,
And ever so far away;
Alluring it calls: O ye yoke of galls,
And ye of the trails overfond,
With saddle and pack, by paddle and track,
Let’s go to the Land of Beyond!

Have ever you stood where the silences brood,
And vast the horizons begin,
At the dawn of the day to behold far away
The goal you would strive for and win?
Yet ah! in the night when you gain to the height,
With the vast pool of heaven star-spawned,
Afar and agleam, like a valley of dream,
Still mocks you the Land of Beyond.

Thank God there's always the Land of Beyond
For us who are true to the trail;
A vision to seek, a beckoning peak,
A fairness that never will fail;
A proud in our soul that mocks at a goal,
A manhood that irks at a bond,
And try how we will, unattainable still,
Behold it, our Land of Beyond!

You could interpret this poem as being about futility. No matter how we journey and what heights we attain, the Land of Beyond remains out of reach. But on the other hand, how delicious that there is always this stunning, distant beckoning peak to drive us onward and upward. Right now in my life, my beckoning peak is an actual peak: Mount Kilimanjaro. My sister-in-law asked the other day why I want to climb it--where is the appeal for me?

1) In 2012, I flew through Kilimanjaro airport en route from Mombasa, Kenya back to the states. I was annoyed at the out of the way stop and we picked up a bunch of chatty student trekkers just barely off the mountain that filled all the seats I had hoped to stretch out on in the long flight ahead. We took off again and I casually glanced out the window and the sight of that mountain almost brought me to tears.

It isn't part of a range, it just juts up from the plains as a singular, stunning interruption on the horizon. It's snow-capped and so high that the blanket of white on the peak blends into the clouds. I saw it and just decided that someday I would need to come back here and climb it. (This is a good thing to clarify for those of you who may have assumed that this forthcoming adventure was solely inspired by my fairly recent marriage to a mountain man).

2) In high school, I read a story by Ernest Hemingway called 'The Snows of Kilimanjaro.' It fascinated me. Much of the narrative has nothing to do with Kilimanjaro, but two things in it kept the place in my mind. In italics at the opening of the story it says:

Kilimanjaro is a snow-covered mountain 19,710 feet high, and is said to be the highest mountain in Africa. Its western summit is called the Masai "Ngaje Ngai," the House of God. Close to the western summit there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude.

The image of that frozen leopard, up too high just stayed with me. No one knew what it was doing up there, but I kind of understood the inclination to ascend, explore, and try.

The story is about a writer, dying at the base of the mountain from a tiny scratch that turned into a serious infection and at one point, as he looks back on his life he says: "What was his talent anyway? It was a talent all right but instead of using it, he had traded on it. It was never what he had done, but always what he could do."

That line cut me to the quick. I've always had a sense that I could do great things, but I read that line from a man running out of breaths and dreaded the thought that I might someday find that I had only ever talked about doing things and never actually done them. 

There are lots of reasons to do this: I feel deeply connected to Africa and I look forward to doing this with Bryan. I need the physical challenge and I'm enticed by the exoticism of the idea, but more than any of those other things, I am motivated by that; a desire to be someone who does things and doesn't just talk about them.

All this to say that, in addition to the other travel posts I hope to add to this blog on a more regular basis, Bryan and I will keep you updated on the training process and on our local adventures in preparation for the big, beautiful foreign one.

We'll add videos and pictures and probably more poems, so stay tuned.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

10 Things I’ll Miss Most About Oxford (I.e. 10 Things You Shouldn’t Miss If You Go)

Note: I wrote the majority of this post the day before I got to Oxford for Graduation. The ending I wrote after. There was a bit of delay in delivery. 


This afternoon, I will arrive in Oxford for the last time as part of my Master’s program. This time when I leave, I will carry the degree away with me and I won’t have the excuse of being a student to justify coming back again.

It’s been a kind of magical experience to intermittently live in this medieval college town, but for different reasons than I was expecting. I’ve got them old, familiar graduation goggles on and everything’s feeling nostalgic and achey. Then I realized that a list of the things I’ll miss most about Oxford might make for a pretty compelling list of things you shouldn’t miss if you ever visit.

So, here they are, the ten things I will miss most about this place (and the ten things you shouldn’t miss on your own visit here).

1. The Architecture
It’s a bit of a given, but I’ve made a concerted effort not to forget to look up as I walk these streets. Every path and alley and corner has some ornate evidence of its history and the architecture is particularly stunning in those drawn out northern evenings when the golden sun lingers on what are affectionately called the “dreaming spires” of Oxford. The University has around 40 individual colleges (like the houses in Harry Potter) and many of the old ones are veritable fortresses with their chapels, dining halls and common rooms inside castle-type walls. In fact, a [ghost tour] guide here once told me that long ago they were actually used to protect students from warring factions the way a real castle would.



Magdelan College is hard to miss as you come up the High Street into town and it’s worth paying the small fee (or flashing your student ID) to check out the inside. C.S. Lewis was a fellow there and the rooms that were his in the New Building (new because it only started being used in 1733), are marked by window boxes of bright red flowers. Worchester College is my favorite and a less common one for tourists to visit. It has a gorgeous courtyard with one of Oxford’s signature perfectly manicured lawns, but a door in the stone wall off to the left takes you to a little more relaxed garden and a pond where the geese have clearly ignored the “Keep off the Grass” signs and so do the students. A large, burly tree grows straight out over the water like a levitating dock. I always meant to climb that thing.



The head of Broad Street is one of the most interesting crossroads of architecture in the whole town. The Bridge of Sighs connecting Hertford College and New College Lane, curves above the street on one side and the Sheldonian Theatre rises on the other, fenced in with a row of carved heads of emperors or scholars whose names have been lost to time.  Go exploring in this general area. Literally everywhere you turn there is something new (and by new, I mean very old) to look at and appreciate.

2. Humming Meadows and Quiet Walks
I was told early on in my time here that Oxford’s educational philosophy includes deliberately making both time and space for long, pondering strolls to be part of an education here. As such, the place is filled with parks and meadows and college grounds and greens that provide really wonderful places to think and talk and picnic and ponder.



My favorite of these is Christ Church meadow, particularly when the evening is becoming dusky, but you can still see all the shapes of the distant spires and rooftops reflected in the river (the same river that, during exam time is suddenly filled with glitter and confetti because so many people celebrate being finished by getting decorated by their friends and then jumping into the water).

University Parks is another great place for a jaunt and perfect for jogging because its looped, but meandering pathways make an excellent place to do laps. The waterfowl at the duck pond that you run past will gladly consume any bread you decide to throw to them (might as well double down on your University Parks health plan by running and giving away your carbs). Port Meadow is another not-to-be-missed though slightly out of the way place to visit. In spring and early summer it becomes a field of yellow wildflowers and throughout the year, wild horses roam around the meadow grazing.



3. Jim-Bob’s Baguettes
I’ve found that most people here agree on the good bargain that is half-price sushi after ten at Itsu on Cornmarket Street or the international cheap eats you can pick up at the giant open market at Gloucester Green several times a week, but it seems like every person has their own idea of what sandwich shop is best and they will defend their choice to the death. Jim-Bob’s Baguettes is mine. And so help me, I will defend it. TO THE DEATH.

The sandwiches are inexpensive and their wheat bread in particular is delicious (even if you’re not a wheat bread person). My usual there is brie and grape with cranberry sauce on wheat and my mouth is watering just typing that out. They have dozens and dozens of combinations and you start getting free stuff on their punch card after only like four sandwiches. The have quick wifi, friendly service and often pretty good music playing. This place is the closest I’ve ever been to having restaurant where I walk in and everyone knows my usual and everybody knows my name.

Go there. It’s across the street and down a little from the Ashmolean Museum which is free and world-class and has among other things, Lawrence of Arabia’s Arab clothing.

4. The “Great Exhibition” of Natural History 
And speaking of Museums, the Oxford University Museum of Natural History became my happy place in my time here, I don’t know why. It’s sort of built like a cathedral on the inside, only most of the ceiling is glass so it feels like stepping into The Great Exhibition in the 19th century when they’d bring animals and treasures and technology from around the empire for people to gawk at in London.



Among the treasures of the museum are the most complete remains of a dodo that exist anywhere in the world. They are less complete than you would expect, but it’s still interesting to see. You walk down these aisles and aisles of dinosaur bones and crabs too large to fit your arms around and snakes and giant tortoises and precious stones and every natural thing worth displaying you could think of. The museum also uses its central tower as a place to study and breed swifts so you can watch the little baby birds on the swift cam whenever there are any in the nest.

Also note, the same building houses the Pitt Rivers Museum which is…an experience. It is the enormous hoarded collection of one very rich, very well-traveled individual from long ago and they left it sorted like he had it—by category rather than by culture or time. So there is a display case of “Things made of bone” or “vessels for carrying water” or “how to deal with enemies” each displaying a mish-mash of things from cultures and tribes all over the world that fit into that category. 

5. Punting on the River
Oxford and Cambridge disagree on the proper way to punt and obviously, Oxford is correct. A punt is like our own little version of a gondola like they use to navigate the canals in Venice (without the stripes or the singing). In Cambridge you stand on the front of the punt to propel it, in Oxford you punt from the back. The person standing on the back carries a long pole and uses it to push off the river bottom to move the boat forward.



I think most people rent a punt from the Magdalen Boathouse because it’s right in the center of things and so easy to find. It’s an excellent option. You will pass Magdalen Tower and the greenhouses of the oldest botanical garden in Britain and one of the oldest scientific gardens in the world. Catch it in the waning, golden light and you’ll get another enchanting view of them dreaming spires.



You can also punt from the Cherwell Boathouse. It’s a little cheaper though a little harder to get to by foot. You can take your punt down to the Victoria Arms pub and alight for a snack and at some times of the year you can hang around on the shore by the boathouse and catch floating opera performances from another passing punt.

*Note: Punting is kind of hard to master. If you find you are zigzagging from bank to bank rather than gliding down the middle like the Lady of Shalott you’re probably leaving your pole on the river bottom too long. Try pushing off and then letting the pole drift backwards and direct from behind like a rudder.

6. The Greatest Shop on Earth
I’m not a shopper. If you’ve ever looking for great shopping tips about a destination, I am not your girl. HOWEVER, Scriptum is probably my favorite store on the face of the earth. If I could, I would buy myself one of everything that’s in there. Maybe if I ever get rich, I’ll do just that.



Scriptum is a little stationary and journal and globe and mask and compass and miniature hot air balloon and pen shop, tucked away just off of the High Street in Oxford. Walking in there kind of feels like walking into the study of an old eccentric professor. One with whom you would hope to be lifelong friends. Everything is close together and interesting to look at and gadgety and vintage and printed and beautiful. GO THERE.

7. Radcliffe Camera and Everything Around it
 Oxford doesn’t really have a central student union since each college has their own facilities meant for their own students, but if there were a center of campus, it would be RadCam Square. The Radcliffe Camera is the domed, above-ground reading room for the massive Bodleian Library whose materials fill the underground chambers and tunnels below as well as many of the buildings around it.



Visit the Bod. It’s probably haunted and definitely beautiful and they’re so strict on their policy of not checking out books to anyone that when Oliver Cromwell came through with an army during the English Civil War (1640s) trying to check something out, they were threatened and pressured and finally wrapped a book for him and sent him on his way. When he opened the parcel he found that, instead of the book he came for, it was a copy of the library rules with “we DO NOT check out materials” circled repeatedly. I can't definitively say that story is true, but the sentiment seems to be.


When you’ve seen the Bod, come out and just stand on the cobblestones by the RadCam and look up at it. It’s stunning against a blue sky with All Souls on one side and Brasenose on the other; the spire of University Church reaching up tall behind. You’ll probably have to move for a bike to pass and the ice cream vendors may or may not succeed in tearing your attention away from the view, but enjoy it for me.

And just to one side of University Church as you make your way to the High Street from here is the Narnia door. There an intricately carved lion’s face in the middle of it and two fauns decorate the doorframe and if you look from there back towards the square, there’s a lamppost. It may just be a rumor, but people always say that this little collection of images, in such close proximity, inspired C.S. Lewis as he created the imaginary world we would later check our closets for as children.

8. Oxford’s Own Ice Cream Café(s)
Drinking is also incidentally a big part of the Oxford experience, but when you’re Mormon and looking for a way to connect with friends on a Friday night, you go out for ice cream instead. G&D’s is “Oxford’s own” ice cream café and they have three locations so you’re never too far from one. The G always stands for George, but the D stands for something different in each location. I paid most of my social visits to George and Danver on St. Aldates and most of my lonely, craving visits to George and Davis on the charmingly string-lit Little Clarendon Street.

The ingredients are local and the available flavors change from day to day, but there are two important things you must do there if you can. 1) Before you order, take note of the chalkboard that tells of the week’s challenge. If you take them up on the challenge, there’s free ice cream in it for you. I have pantomimed my order, sung the requested song and done more tongue twisters than you can imagine to earn my dessert. My extensive repository of totally useless trivia facts suddenly becomes very valuable at a G&D’s. 2) Do yourself a favor and order a cookie monster. It’s a scoop of ice cream sandwiched between two heated cookies and it’s just too good. Their Daim Bar cookies, when heated, have pockets of melted toffee (i.e. chunks of Daim Bar) and it pairs with practically any ice cream. It's the perfect amount of soothing warmth and sweetness to take the edge of a blustery Oxford day (they can be like that sometimes).  

9. Oxford Markets (Covered and Giant)
The Oxford Covered Market is a series of little storefronts and permanent stalls under a giant roof, which are open during regular business hours pretty much every day of the week. Check out the Alpha Bar in there for good vegetarian (or just healthy) food and eat it while you window shop intricately decorated cakes and elaborate hats.



The Giant Market, as it is sometimes called, is a temporary outdoor market that crops up with rows and rows of blue and yellow canvas stalls in Gloucester Green by the bus station on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. The local vendors there feature everything from used books and clothes to antique coins to fancy cheeses and pastries. Most recently I met a vendor there who calls himself Peter the Brass and specializes in old doorbells (with actual bells a la A Christmas Carol) and skeleton keys with functioning locks and antique tools. The place is full of characters as much as it is full of products and that, along with the cheap dumplings and Indian food and Hungarian fried bread and paella, makes the market well worth a browse.



10. Rubbing Shoulders with History  
Last, but possibly most, I will miss the feeling in this place like you are sharing air space with inspired and intellectual and interesting people from years past. I like walking past the Bird and the Baby (pub) and knowing that C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien used to exchange ideas and read things they were working on to each other there. I think it’s funny that each July there is an Alice in Wonderland themed celebration in the entire town and that Wonderland and the little girl that wandered there came out of someone’s imagination who sat on the same benches and looked at the same buildings as me. I like to see Einstein’s scrawled notes preserved on a chalkboard in the science museum from a time he gave a lecture here. I like wondering who else has studied at the same desk I’m sitting at and who sang in this chapel and who thought about what in this garden.




Most of my graduation ceremony was in Latin, so I was left to sort of imagine what was being said, but the one bit he did tell us in English was that Oxford will be a part of our experience and our identities for the rest of our lives. I couldn’t help looking around at the ornate décor inside the Sheldonian Theatre as he went on and feeling awed by that thought. I saw the edge of a statue through the windows above him and thought “I am now as much a permanent part of the history of this place as that statue is. Whatever tiny part I had, I had it and it’ll always be here. I’ve left my tiny entry in the 800+ year journal of this place.”

So, if you visit, see a few of my favorite things. And while you're there, remember me and that singular, blessed, lovely moment in my young life when I called this place home.