I was under the impression my Spanish was better than it is, and more people would speak English here than actually do. This hot mess is this result.
My sister Abby has lived in San Diego for a year, and this was my first visit to see her. She did a great job of having everything planned out, and it was nice not to need to research anything.
I arrived late Friday night, but we were up super early on Saturday so Abby could attend her sprint triathlon practice on Coronado Island. She and her fellow athletes looked like total badasses with all their bikes and gear, and it really made me miss running. I was able to hang out with my BFF Natalie while Abby had her meet. We had a delightful breakfast (best. omelet. ever) and made it back to cheer on Abby at the finish line. Afterward we toured Hotel Del Coronado, where Natalie created a quiz to help me narrow down which piece of chocolate I wanted from the candy store.
Saturday night, Abby took me to an amazing restaurant on the beach of Cardiff by the Sea for the most delicious birthday dinner. I had filet mignon and we shared a bottle of Pinot Noir. They wouldn’t seat us early, even though we were hungry and they weren’t crowded, so we entertained ourselves on the beach.
We went kayaking in Mission Bay on Sunday. I was certain that I’d wind up in the water at some point or that something would go terribly wrong. Besides Abby repeatedly not paying attention and flinging her oar back so that I kept getting soaked, we survived.
Unfortunately, I didn’t put sunscreen on my legs and got a wicked, painful burn. Sigh.
Sunday night we had fish tacos in Ocean Beach. They were amazing, but we stuffed our faces on the carne asade fries beforehand that we couldn’t even finish the tacos. Monday we visited Torrey Pines State reserve, had delicious burgers at Rocky’s in Pacific Beach and had a picnic dinner on the cliffs of Ocean Beach at sunset.
More San Diego pictures are up on flickr. Most of them were taken by my sister, which means they’re all slightly crooked (as seen above).
(on my way back to New York from Aruba.)
The entire time leading up to my trip to Aruba, I had the Beach Boys song “Kokomo” in my head. I almost could’ve lived out the lyrics, because Jet Blue flies to most of the places mentioned, but I decided to hold off on Jamaica until someone could accompany me for safety reasons.
I already made a video recap of Aruba, but here are some photos of my Caribbean vacation now that I have the cord to hook up to my computer.
(view of my hut from my beach chair)
(total relaxation)
(sunset)
(view from my beach chair. every day. it felt like a dream.)
I’d planned to spend all of Sunday, Sept 13 in Eugene, but felt like I’d done everything I wanted to by Saturday. My initial thought was to drive two and a half hours to Bend. I’d read that it was a more laid-back version of New York with lots of outdoor activities and thought the city might appeal to me more. But I was worried about not having much time to do anything once I’d arrived because I had to catch a flight from Portland that night. And I read you didn’t get cell phone reception in the forests, volcanoes and mountains. That freaked me out – and the walkie talkies soution wasn’t an option for me.
So I stopped by a gas station, purchased my first Rand McNally map and plotted my trip along the Oregon Coast before heading back to Portland. This decision was extremely uncharacteristic of me — I’d printed Google Maps and directions in New York of places I planned on visiting during my trip. The Oregon Coast didn’t occur to me until the night before I went.
From Eugene, I drove a couple hours west to Florence. Had I paid more attention to the map, I would’ve realized I was going to drive through a forest (which I thought I was avoiding with this option). This meant no cell phone service, winding roads and essentially being in the middle of nowhere. Once I realized this, I panicked a bit. Especially when I couldn’t figure out how to turn the minivan’s lights on or how to deal with the windshield wipers. I hadn’t told a single person of my impromptu road trip — so no one knew where the hell I was. Multiple times I considered turning around, or changing my route once I made it to Florence. I just wasn’t sure I could handle the roads.
After I’d filled up with gas in Florence, messed around with my headlights until I figured out how to turn them on, and realized that I was making things out to be worse than they were, I had a leisurely drive along the coast. I’m so glad I went through with it because it was an amazing adventure.
The Coast was so breathtaking that I had to stop to take pictures not long after I started driving along Highway 101.
(grey and windy, but in the most beautiful way)
(this baby navigates likes a dream. seriously. i miss her.)
Most of the time the minivan and I were only going about 40 mph, slower once we made it into a town (I didn’t realize that places still had 25 mph speed limits on main streets, but this trip proved me wrong. I was driving so slowly I might as well have been moving backwards).
My camera battery was nearly zapped, but I still stopped whenever I felt called to (or was able to safely find a spot along the highway). The drive was so peaceful — in great part because the radio didn’t have much reception (and my MacBook wasn’t letting me burn CDs).
During the beginning of my drive, I honest-to-God sang “America the Beautiful” because it was the only thing that came to mind. Once I paid attention to the lyrics (of the first verse, because that’s all I have memorized), I realized how applicable they were to the coast. I realized the true meaning of majestic. I realized how horrible my voice is a capella when I don’t have background music drowning me out.
The Oregon Coast honestly took my breath away.
(just one of the reasons why i need to live here at some point.)
I didn’t want my drive along the Coast to end. The impromptu trip will remain one of my favorite/most memorable parts of the trip. And an example of why, amid all my planning, I should always leave a little room for the unexpected.
I’m not sure where I got the idea to visit Eugene, Ore. I’d wanted to visit some place besides Portland while I was in Oregon. Eugene is the second biggest city and home to the University of Oregon, and for some reason, I had thought it’d be like my college town of Lawrence (sadly, it was not). Eugene is less of a destination and more of a place to live — I felt like I ran out of things to do, and I even had the minivan to shuttle me around.
I arrived on Friday, and after my freak out when my hostel didn’t exist, I explored downtown. The Saturday Farmer’s Market was absolutely incredibly. I had breakfast crepes and coffee and wished that I had a kitchen so I could take advantage of all the fresh fruits and vegetables.
After the Farmer’s Market, I hiked up Skinner’s Butte Park.
The park had a nice shaded area with picnic benches and tables, which was perfect to cool down, drink lots of water and take in the views.
I’ve been trying to take a picture from every plane ride (window seat pending). Here are photos from my flight to Portland, destination number one on my All-You-Can-Jet Pass.
First leg from JFK to Long Beach, Calif. Loved seeing all these mountains.
Sunset from Long Beach to Portland, Ore.
Arrived in San Diego on Friday night. My sister’s internet isn’t working so I’m at a coffee shop now but don’t have enough time for proper updates.
Here’s what’s to come…
1) How Eugene turned out after the homeless fiasco
2) My impromptu drive along the Oregon Coast. I probably need to live there within the next three years
3) Realizing how spoiled I’ve been on Jet Blue after flying Delta
4) Coronado Island and the best omelet of my life and dinner in Cardiff by the Sea, right off the ocean
Today’s plans include brunch and kayaking. Excited to explore more of San Diego since we’ve mostly visited nearby towns so far.
When I was planning my itinerary with my Jet Blue pass, Aruba wasn’t even on the radar. I thought I’d end up in San Juan, Puerto Rico, traipsing through a rain forest. Then I researched the safety and thought maybe it wasn’t the best option for a solo traveler with questionable Spanish. Then I thought I’d go to St. Maarten, but the flights didn’t work with my schedule. Aruba was safe*, the dates worked and it fit the bill for the beach destination of my travels.
*Regardless, I can’t tell you how many times “Natalie Holloway” has run through my head
But for as far south as I am, hovering just above South America, I don’t really feel like I’m in another country. I’m still in the same time zone as New York. I didn’t even have to convert my money because everyone excepts dollars. Everyone here speaks English. The official language is Dutch because it’s part of the “Kingdom of the Netherlands.” But Papiamento is more common — a mix of Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, English, French, West African and Indian. Before I knew what this language was, it sounded both familiar and confusing, which now makes sense.
(hey youtube, thanks for picking a really great opening still shot. um. not.)
1. Drive around trying to find the place where you made reservations
2. Walk around a 10-block radius scouring for the damn building
3. Call the place. Get generic voicemail.
4. Return to minivan on verge of tears, not sure what the eff to do
5. Contemplate living in a van, down by the river
Crisis averted. I lucked out. Seriously lucked out.