Belford. Beaten. Barely.

When I started planning my trip to Colorado way back in January, I knew that I would be powerless to resist the siren song of the 14ers.  For those who don't know, I've been hiking for a long time, and climbing for a slightly less-long time, and one of my goals is to eventually hike/climb/whatever-you-call-it all of Colorado's 14ers.  There are 54.  Since I moved to Colorado in 2003, I've hiked 30.

To be fair, I did do my best to avoid them for over a week after I landed in Denver: I walked the dog, suffered through jet lag, ate Mexican food, drank margaritas, drank other alcoholic beverages, attempted to run on my gimpy leg, went to breakfast at the Buff, got my hair done, and had a slightly drunken table dive/slip-n-slide adventure in the backyard of friends who shall remain nameless for the good of their respective careers...  In other words, all the things you do when you're in Boulder that don't involve hiking. 

Friends who shall remain nameless.

But.

I also bought new hiking boots, broke them in religiously, hiked Mt. Sanitas once a day, and lusted after fancy new gear at REI.  Now, why would I do that?

In the end, it all got to be too much.  So, on Sunday, I dragged my husband away from the above-mentioned slip-n-slide party and we pointed our shiny silver rental Mazda towards Buena Vista for some good old-fashioned pain and suffering.  But first we stopped at K's, because a trip to BV would not be complete without a greasy burger.  Then, in dwindling light, we headed out of town to our mosquito-infested campsite (a mini-adventure in its own right) and set up camp to prepare for an early start in the morning.

The alarm was set for 4:30.  Yes, that's right.  Those who know me will appreciate how very much I must love the mountains, because usually it is a herculean effort to get me out of bed before 9.  And guess what?  That's not even the earliest I've ever woken up to hike!  Try 1:30 am!  It's almost stupid to even try to sleep at that point!  But I did!  And then woke up!

Anyway.  The snooze was hit a few times, so we didn't actually get moving until about 5:30.  The mosquitoes were still sleeping when we packed our bags, threw some food on the ground for the dog, and drove the last few bumpy miles to the trailhead.  We were on the trail by 6:30, a reasonable hour (but not, as it turned out, early enough for us to hit up our planned second peak, Oxford).  I usually like to start at 5am (or earlier) for optimal storm-avoidance.  Friends, shake your heads in awe.  I actually PLAN to wake up early on MULTIPLE occasions!  On PURPOSE!

Note the elevation gain chart on the middle left of the map.

From the parking area, we started up the Missouri Gulch trail.  This led us into the forest for about an hour or so before we hit treeline.  Along the way we had a couple of fun stream crossings, as well as the always-enjoyable switchbacks from hell.  Cody, at least, seemed ok with it.

Fun fact: this is the only known photo of the white dog without a stick in her mouth.

Near 11,300, we finally got a good glimpse of the rest of our day.  It was deceptively simple-looking.  Look, a slight bump in the ridge!  You can totally see the summit from here!

Mt. Belford in the center: you can see almost the entire route.

As it turns out, that was only the beginning of a VERY long hike for two people who, not so very long ago, had been blissfully breathing in the salt-tinged air of a sea-level Melbourne.

At around 11,600, we reached a trail junction.  The following conversation then occurred:

Me: I think we go left. 
Chris: There's a tent over there.
Me: Yeah. We should have done that instead of camping at Mosquito Hotel.
Chris: Do you think they'd care if we took a nap?
Me: Look, they're camped right next to a "No Camping sign."  Ha.
Chris: Can we take a nap?
Me: No.
Chris: I don't like nature.
Me: So do you want to turn around?
Chris: No, let's see how far we get until we black out.

We went left.

A bit farther on, past treeline, we made the acquaintance of a group of marmots.  They were pretty rude and made faces at the camera.

Cody's new friends.

After that, I pretty much blacked out for about 2,300 vertical feet.  Fortunately my camera provided evidence that we had, in fact, physically walked up the trail under our own power.

At around 13,900, we reached a (relatively) flat spot.  I took photos.  We had another conversation:

Me: I think this is the last false summit.
Chris: No.
Me: Yes.
Chris: No.
Me: If it isn't, let's turn around.  The clouds are getting bigger.
Chris: No.
Me: Can you say anything except no right now?
Chris: No.

Finally, with less than 100 vertical feet to go, we spied the REAL summit.  Joy!  Rapture!  Wheezing!

Thar she blows.

It didn't look like much at first, but it was, in fact, an amazing summit.  Know why?  Because it was the top!  14,197 feet of rock!  And we were at the top of it.

What happened next?  Well, we gave Cody some water, we gave ourselves some food, we took an obnoxious amount of photos, and Cody begged for goldfish.  Now I'm not sure, but I think she might have gotten some.

Who could resist that face?

The way down was about what you'd expect: steep, never-ending, and knee-punishing.  When we are about done with getting down a mountain, Chris and I have a game we like to play:

Me: So how much money would it take for you to turn around and climb this again?
Chris: a lot.
Me: How much?
Chris: Let us never speak of this again. 

Fin.

Only In Colorado

Well kids, it's been an exciting few weeks in Colorful Colorado.  And we're not done yet!  After a series of setbacks, I'm back to writing.  Ok, so the "setbacks" were mostly just me having too much fun to sit in front of a computer for more than a few minutes a day.  Which is a good thing, right?  Right?  Bueller?

I did want to point out a few awesome things I've seen so far in my travels around CO.  I'm sure I'll discover more this weekend as I head off for another hiking extravaganza, but these few images were basically just too good not to share.  Plus, posting photos with semi-witty comments is way easier than actually thinking about, and then writing, you know, blog entries and junk.

So without further ado, I present my current three favorite photos from my time here (so far).  Not that you needed physical proof of anything bizarre that I ever talk about (after all, my word is law), but I think it's pretty hard to argue with photographic evidence.

First: I think this convincingly shows that Boulder is the most liberal city on the planet (San Francisco, prepare for your cage match!  I've got front-row seats and a poncho).

Please note the dinosaur devouring the Jesus fish (my personal fave).

Second: proof that sometimes Boulder is just... effing weird.

So much is confusing about this sign.  What is feng shui compliant?  The sign itself?  The circle of rocks surrounding said sign?  Are patrons of this fine establishment expected to arrange their stored items in a specific north-south alignment?  Full of consternation am I.

Finally: ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this proves beyond a reasonable doubt that Colorado is AWESOME.  Therefore, you must convict it of being AWESOME.

My work here is done.  Good night.

Rocky Mountain High

I'm supposed to be sleeping right now.  Somehow, however, jet lag hasn't set in yet (or maybe my body's just too confused to rebel), so I'm up, writing instead of drifting into an Ambien-induced slumber. 

Well, I made it!  Yay Colorado!  After 20 hours, five cups of (bad) coffee, four in-flight movies, three flights, two lonely apples sacrificed to the quarantine gods, and a partridge in a pear tree, I'm finally in the land of thin air.  Couldn't be happier.  I actually broke out into a huge grin when I walked off the massive A380 in L.A.  That should tell you something right there - why else would I be happy to be landing in L.A. other than it's one step closer to CO?

This is what I saw when I looked out my window:

Then, when I landed, I saw my fabulous friend Amy, who picked me up in her fabulous little red Audi and heroically drove me (in style) through rush hour traffic to the home of my other fabulous friend, Tetyana, who will be hosting me for the foreseeable future.  Just kidding.  Only until she decides to kick me out.  Then we ate melons and went to the dog park and oh, it was wonderful.

More later.  It's good to be back.

Tourist, Take Two

Today is officially my last day in Melbourne!  I'm feeling a little bit happy and a little bit sad.  Of course I'm psyched to be heading back to Colorado for a few weeks before moving to Singapore, but I'll definitely miss it here - it's a very easy and fun place to live.  Great friends, great food, great coffee, great things to see and do...  Ah, I'm getting a little misty now.  Damn it!

I'll save the emotional stuff for another time.  Right now there's something even more important to document: my frantic last-minute attempt to do way too many random things I never got around to doing in the last eight months because "I'm living here so I'll have plenty of time to do it all... later."  Well, it's later.  Really later.  And as I sat last Thursday night looking over my list, it occurred to me that this whole thing might be a tad ambitious.  But then I ate some chocolate and the bad thoughts went away.

I've decided to document some of the the things I did this week - as well as some things I didn't get around to doing.  Just for laughs.  Also, because I have been informed that I owe it to my public (a.k.a., my husband and my mom and the possibly three other people who read this thing) to blog.  So blog I will - packing be damned. 

Here's my list.  I've also included whether I got around to doing the thing on the list, and some notes on how the thing did or did not get accomplished.  Also, if I felt like it, I graded the experience.

1.  Dandenongs.  Mountains east of town.  I use the term "mountains" loosely.  Pretty, though - smelled like eucalypts, one of my new favorite odors.  Hiked the Thousand Steps and ate scones with multitudes of cheerful Indian tourists.  Also, inexplicably, visited a puppet shop.  Unfortunately, did not purchase any puppets.

Kookaburra!

Thousand Steps!

Puppets!

2.  Melbourne Laneway Commissions.  Hint: look up.  More street art.  My fave laneway has been redecorated.  I still love it.  Grade: always an A+.

3.  Sensory Lab (a.k.a. one of the millions of coffee shops in Melbourne that I have grievously neglected, despite my best efforts).  It is no longer neglected.  In fact, they now have $6 of my husband's hard-earned money.  Good coffee.  Just the tiniest bit pretentious, but that was ok because of said magnificent coffee.

4.  State Library (inside).  I say "inside" because I've been "outside" the library lots of times, but never actually stepped through the doors.  I went inside this time.  There were guards.  One guard asked me what I had in my bag.  I said "gym clothes.  Is that OK?"  He said as long as i wasn't going to eat my clothes, it was fine.  Dodged a bullet there!  The library is large, parts of it are creaky, parts of it are modern, and parts of it are actually an art museum.  With red paint and very dead people hanging on the walls.  Verdict: Library: A (I have a soft spot for libraries); Museum: C (meh).  No photos inside, unfortunately. 

5.  Mr. Tulk (inside the inside of the State Library).  You guessed it, another coffee shop.  I liked it better than Sensory Lab, mostly because I got a piece of orange cake along with my coffee.  That's not really Sensory Lab's fault, but whatever.  Yes it is.

6.  Ian Potter Museum.  At Melbourne University.  Yeah.  I got halfway there on the tram and lost interest.  At this point... fuck museums.  Moving on!

7.  Black Light Mini Golf.  Rumored to have "one of Melbourne's most amazing holes" (clearly the selling point in this scenario).  In Docklands.  Therefore, was deemed unacceptably far away.  Reluctant fail.

8.  Eat a meat pie.  I've been here for 8 months and haven't tried one.  So, I tried one today at a shop whose sign said that its pies were "legendary."  Can't get much better than that.  Because I simply could not get past the image of mucous-y peas mixed with a few gristly lumps of gray meat, I got a "Chicken, Leek & Swiss Cheese" pie instead of beef.  Verdict: crust was good.  Chicken was ok.  Cheese was mucous-y.  Grade: about what I expected.  No grade necessary; I just won't be eating pies. EVER.  AGAIN.

9.  Victoria Market.  Had to revisit this one to pick up some crucial last-minute supplies.  Otherwise known as the most vulgar Australia souvenirs ever - think plastic boomerangs and continent-shaped ashtrays.  Or, you know, a mankini.  Friends: get ready for some awesome gifts!

10.  Burger Monster.  Supposed to have the best burgers in town.  However, I gave this a pass for two reasons: first, it was in the Docklands and, really, I couldn't be bothered even trying to figure out how to get there; and second, let's face it: Aussies don't do burgers.  Decided to wait (impatiently) for some quality at Southern Sun.

11. The Public Purse.  Kind of hilarious meta-sculpture outside the General Post Office, which has been converted into a high-end mall.  The sculpture was fun.  The mall was too expensive.  Boo.

12.  Brunch with Erin.  Yes, we got that done!  Yay!  Chris and I met up with Erin, Peter, and Peter's three adorable children at a place called the Blue Plate in Hampton.  Amazing food.  Got to see my good friend (and fellow nicnkamee) E.  Chris got to show off his latest gadget, and the kids got to tell us all about the latest Shrek movie.  Also, the food was amazing.  Did I already say that?

Yum!

So what have I learned from this experience?  Without descending too far into cliche, that's more than I can possibly fit into this space (and I don't even know if I can actually describe it all anyway).  Maybe that's best discussed over time, over beers, over a campfire, over roasted javelina at Canyon Ranch... who can say?  I do know that I did learn something from my list: you can spend eight months in a place, trying to be a resident instead of a tourist, and at the end of it two things are evident: first, you will always have a little bit of tourist in you; and second, you can live here for years and still discover, almost daily, little (or big) things about this city that surprise and - just maybe - delight you.

Melbourne: it's been a privilege.  I already weep bitter tears over the thought of having to drink Starbucks for the foreseeable future.

PS.  Contrary to popular belief, I am NOT obsessed with food (as the photos above might seem to indicate).  Just coffee.  That is all.

Told Ya!

Just in case anyone didn't believe my previous post about obedient Melbourne doggies waiting outside for their owners...

Ha!

Let Them Eat Cake (etc.)

Let's talk about stress, baby.

People have different reactions to stress.  Some people eat.  Some read insipid women's magazines (BTW, do they really have to be filed under "women's interest" when everyone knows they end up as bathroom reading material for men?  Discuss!).  Some exercise obsessively.  Some troll the internet for vacuous articles about celebrity weight-loss secrets.  Some nap.  Some shop (or fake-shop by visiting stores over and over again, bitterly, without actually buying anything).  Some drink frightening quantities of Cabernet Sauvignon.  Some burst into tears in the middle of a crowded noontime city bustle.  Some glare at smokers until they toss their cigarettes on the ground and scurry away in shame.  Some take craploads of Valium.  While I can't claim to be innocent of many of these particular vices, I also can't blame stress for them (let's face it: these are just regular daily activities for me).

When I'm stressed, I bake.

That's my dirty little secret.  And it turns out that emotional baking can actually lead to stress - especially if one consumes the end product of said baking frenzy in one evening/for breakfast/while on the phone to one's nutritionist.  See above re. obsessive exercising.

I try not to make the same thing twice, but (unfortunately for my non-chocolate-loving husband) I'm a sucker for all things chocolate.  There have definitely been encores of certain brownies and cupcakes.  My most recent endeavor is a repeat: yes, I'm talking about chocolate cake.  Doesn't need frosting.  Just needs to get in my belly.

The picture doesn't really do it justice, but who the hell cares?

I think my next project will be chocolate chip cherry cookies.  Why?  Two reasons: (1) I need some serious stress relief right now (screw yoga); and (2) um... look at them.

Why do I need stress relief?  Stay tuned: I'm still trying to figure out how to make it funny enough to post here.

Off Leash

Gratuitous Cody/Layla photo

Dogs have been on my mind a lot lately.  When we first learned that Chris' job would send him to Australia for 8 months, I knew, I just knew, that we couldn't bring Layla and Cody with us.  For one thing, the Australian quarantine period is six months.  For another thing, it is ridiculously expensive to get one dog overseas, let alone two.  So it was with a very heavy heart that I shipped Layla to my parents in Boston and drove Cody down to Denver to live with her new temporary family (Amy, Adam, Diesel, and assorted felines - who were probably not fully prepared for "The Full Cody", and for that I say, bless you for what you've done to help us out).  I might have shed a tear or two.  I tried not to dwell on them too much, because it made me sad.

Then, when I got to Melbourne, I saw dogs everywhere!  Trotting down Chapel Street, romping with children in Victoria Gardens, guarding baby carriages, lazing next to their owners' chairs at outdoor cafe tables... it was like a kind of torture.  A very adorable torture.  I have tried to resist the smiling doggy faces - I can't really bear to pet them.  Chris takes the opposite approach and fondles every dog that crosses his path (it's getting a little disturbing, actually).  Basically, it's been difficult to avoid them.  If something's on your mind, then you tend to see it all the time.  Like when I bought a Jeep a few years back (the Cherokee, NOT the Grand Cherokee, thank you very much), I suddenly started noticing how many Jeeps there were in Boulder.  Same thing, only furrier.

So, despite my best efforts, since we found out that we're moving to Singapore, I've been forced to think about our own dog situation: like, how are we going to get them to Singapore?  Is it too expensive?  Would it be cruel to make them travel that distance?  Would their quality of life be better with us in Singapore or with friends/family in the states?  These are tough questions that I've struggled with.  I feel a little selfish in admitting that, yes, I want them to come with us - whatever it takes.  So we've started that process. 

Although not quite as stringent as Australia's, Singapore's quarantine rules are still pretty strict - it's an island, after all.  I've been doing a ton of research on import rules, figuring out the timing of getting the dogs vaccinated and blood-tested, scoping out pet-moving companies, etc.  There's a lot of red tape involved.  Picture Lady Gaga in the "Telephone" video - only except for yellow police tape, it's red.  And instead of her being naked and strategically bandaged with said tape, writhing around sexily in a jail cell, picture me wearing pajamas and screaming silently at the computer while trying to Skype at 1am Melbourne time with unhelpful and cranky Masshole veterinarians.  OK, maybe that analogy doesn't work.  But it's the same general experience: profoundly weird, kind of demented, and mostly just confusing.

One thing I quickly learned about Singapore is that it is not the most dog-friendly city.  Although there are many parks and beaches, they don't all allow dogs, and they all require dogs to be leashed (there are dog parks around, but they seem few and far between).  Most cabs will not allow dogs, so you have to either (1) have a car; (2) walk everywhere; or (3) hire a special "pet taxi" to deliver you and your dog to your destination (yes, they have pet taxis).  Not only that, but certain breeds have to be muzzled when they're out in public, even if they are on a leash.  Then there's the cobras.  Shudder.  Anyway, bottom line: leashes will be mandatory about 99% of the time for Cody and Layla.  The good news is that there is a beach where they can play in the water (that's the rumor, anyway).  They (read: Cody) should like that.

The funny thing about all this leash business (and btw, are leashes really a metaphor here for a lack of freedom or feeling somehow prevented from doing what you actually want?  Discuss!) is that here in Australia, leashes don't really seem to exist.  I mean, I've seen them in pet stores, but it's actually pretty rare here to see a dog actually attached to a leash.  Those touching scenes I described earlier?  All those dogs were off-leash.  As in, trotting down the sidewalk of a busy street with no leash.  And sometimes, apparently, with no owner.  I'll see a dog wandering aimlessly and look around for its owner: nowhere to be found.  Then a block later someone (the owner?) will stop and look back to make sure the dog is still following.  Or there will be a dog waiting patiently just outside a 7-Eleven, staring intently inside, so close to the entrance that the automatic doors don't close.  It was a little strange at first, but now I'm used to it.  It's extremely entertaining to see a Pomeranian and a Pitbull wandering down a sidewalk, the smaller dog taking about 8 steps to match the bigger one, both following some phantom master like lost baby ducks.

I'm pretty sure Cody would never sit still (or follow) for that long.  She'd either be off playing in traffic or pop in to the local butcher shop (yes, they allow dogs in some of the markets).  Since Layla is perfect, I'm sure she'd do just fine.

I'm hoping we can get a house/apartment with a yard in Singapore (minus the cobras).  If not, i think the pet taxis are gonna be making a lot of money off us.  Maybe we should just start our own pet taxi/portable dog park business.  I need a business model, stat.