when life gives you a lemon tree...

i have just experienced one of those vacations that i am actually jealous of myself for having gone on. after spending the last two years learnin' my way across europe, i didn't realize how nice it would be to go "classic holiday" and just relax. screw the toppled marbled columns and Lycian tombs. we just wanted a cold beer and the hot sun.

there was a lot of debate between Dan and i about where we should go -- we haven't seen Barcelona or Budapest, Dubrovnik or Faro; we might never get a chance to float the fjords or hike the alps. but do we really need to? we have seen so much more than we'd ever dreamed we would, so why don't we take a vacation from vacation and spend some quality time with a good book and a gallon of SPF 50?

it was by pure Google that we came upon Kas, Turkey. i had only two requirements: average 85 degrees in June, have private pool. after some creative searching, i hit the vacation jackpot. we found our house, overlooking the Med, only 2 hours from the airport, and the owner was willing to knock 200 Pounds off the price because there were only two of us staying at three-bed Villa Jasmine.

now is where you should cover your eyes if you don't want to know how freakin' perfect this place was...we were just a short walk from a swimming platform and beach cafe, but we only went once because the view from our infinity pool was just as great and the beer in our fridge was just that much colder. we had our own lemon tree, from which we made fresh squeezed lemonade to serve with the aubergine, basil, and tomato pasta we cooked in our kitchen (the herbs having been given to us by an old man downtown who grows them in front of his tailor shop). the pool man and gardener, Mamhet, brought fresh bread every morning for our breakfast. the ocean was warm and clear enough that you could see 30 feet in any direction, at least that was my guess from when i did my first ever scuba dive. should i go on?

we had our own car, so we could run to town and get kebaps, beers, fresh fruit, and any sort of dish made of lamb that our hearts desired. the market on friday was full of spices and knock-off Lacoste, perfect for tourists, of which there were very, very few. the daytime high never dropped below 86, but the sea breeze would cool you off if you got too warm.

after spending months or weeks apart from Dan, or months and weeks living together but both going a thousand miles an hour in different direction, it would come to a point where our relationship seemed a lot like two roommates rather than a husband-wife. with our precious 15 minutes together we had time to discuss the bills or the ever-testy Mini, the next six weeks schedule, appointments, trips, chores.

this type of vacation with seven long days of nothing in front of us -- no navigating to a hotel or seeking out a bus schedule. no deciding where to eat or what to see, nothing but time to chat, swim, read, eat, cook, and just spend our obligation-free time -- was just what we needed.

how do you pronounce "LLLL"?

on our way to the Welsh beach on a day warm enough to get a sunburn on a Welsh beach (which is like a day cold enough to build a snowman in a Las Vegas backyard), we stopped in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, Angelsey Island, Wales. Commonly known as Llanfair P.G., for obvious reasons, this little town is a great example of the ridiculousness that is Welsh. How exactly does one pronounce four, consecutive L's? there was also Cwrw, Cwm, Caerdydd, and other words without vowels. usually i try to figure out the language basics when i visit a new place, but i saw no point in Wales. a land that regularly omits vowels seems uncivilized.

but we joined the busloads of tourists who get their photo taken next to the sign at the longest town name on a train station sign, and quickly discovered that Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch probably means "tourist trap" in Welsh. the only things in the village are the train station, a mall selling cheap Welsh souvenirs, and a Volvo dealership. i applaud their clever publicity stunt, and for some of these coach-riding American (and British) tourists, a belt with the name spelled out on it probably fits perfectly.

walking the bikes in wales

after a long winter in the garage, a bicycle likes to get out and see the world again. when spring rolls around, it's time to put some air in the tires, oil the gears, and take the bikes for a walk. i would say take our bikes for a ride, but with our current level of fitness it ended up that we did a lot more walking of the bikes than riding of them. who knew that Wales had such steep hills?

after we'd walked the bikes up to the top of a lovely ridge, admired the ancient stone fences, the poofy sheep with racoon-like tails, and the views of Mt. Snowden, we hopped on the seats and rode the brakes down a slate-ridden trail that was twice as steep as the one we'd just pushed our bikes up.

it seems like it would be frustrating, but it was a fantastic day out and a wonderful way to celebrate dan's 30th birthday. how better to face a new decade than to don a $20 plastic helmet and careen down a gravel forest track at 30 mph?

we'd never before been to wales, but if our little village of Betws-y-Coed (still not sure about the pronunciation, either) played sister-city to an american village, it would be a lovely match for McCall, Idaho. it, too, was an undiscovered hamlet high in the mountains only known by lead miners, loggers, and sheep farmers until the 40s (1840s in this case). now it is a outdoor mecca (seven sporting-goods stores, four pubs, eight restaurants, and more people clad in fleece and dri-fit than sheep on the hillsides)....

we thought about camping, but the only part of the weather forecast one can trust here is the phases of the moon. and half the time you don't even know if they are lying about those because who ever gets to see the moon? so we opted for a B&B with biking, hiking, and beer drinking just a few steps out the front door.

it was the first time in my travels that i felt at home and homesick at the same time. something about real forests, real elevation, bars where there's more bicycle parking than car parking, and friendly people wearing Chacos gave me a warm fuzzy feeling. now i know where to go if i need a dose of the northwest, albiet with funny accents.

standing still on the autobahn

usually when you get a rental car, it has no guts. no get-up-and-go. i think they do it differently in germany where the rentals need to keep up on the famous autobahns. i had my VW golf settle right in at 130 km/hr. that's a little over 80 mph, and for me, that's pretty zippy. i have been known to drive like a grandma when i am not running into things in parking lots and tearing bumpers off my cars.

i felt pretty good about myself out on the open road, sort of like in eastern oregon or west texas where you can haul ass without anyone around to care. mom and i were listening to some pop hits (poker face makes me want to drive fast and simultaneously punch someone in their poker face) and i had the golf up to about 150 km/hr (93 mph-ish) when a little BMW roadster zoomed by at the speed of sound. he was followed by a few Mercedes, a motorcycle, and a Porsche. i didn't mind until the 95 honda civic whipped by like i was standing still. that was followed by an 88' Opel sedan of some sort -- the german version of the chevy cavalier.

talk about taking the wind out of my sails. we quickly exited the autobahn in favor of the two-lane country byways where i could still drive fast and pretend like my golf cornered like it was on rails. it doesn't. the golf corners like a shoebox. but at least no one could pass me.

paris in the springtime

the goal: get M to the major european capitols whilst i live in england. with paris last week, we've conquered them all: london, rome, amsterdam, paris. she's a well-travelled k-townian.

other than M almost getting killed by a vespa, the trip to gay paris was drama-free. we both gained 13.5 pounds from eating pastries and cheeses, we saw the major landmarks, and i think i can safely say that i am finished with city breaks. i miss the pace of country livin'.