Whidbey Island New Years Eve bash

On the morning of our New Years Eve visit to Whidbey Island, my friend texted, “Are you sure you still want to go? It’s going to rain.” But when does it ever not rain, drizzle, sprinkle, or mist in the Pacific Northwest? The 40-mile long island can be reached both over land or by ferry from Mukilteo or Port Townsend. The Mukilteo ferry terminal had been open for a whopping two days the day of our trip and is a sight to see on its own. Bedecked in fragrant cedar and traditional Salish carvings with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the sparkling Puget Sound it feels more welcoming and comforting than your average transit center. And not only is it seismically sound, it’s also LEED certified silver! (This has been your transit nerd interlude. Thank you for your patience). 

Generally I plan the pants off of any trip but since this outing was not my idea, I restrained myself to only a couple of hours of googling. Interestingly, my horoscope for the day said to make an effort to do some serious planning. And it may have been right; I had no cell service over much of the Island and my friend’s intentions were literally “drive around and see what there is to see.” I’m sure she didn’t realize that the island was quite as big as it is.

Seema looked up a few potential places to grab food and we settled on Pickles in Clinton for egg sandwiches. Unfortunately they did not serve breakfast after 11 (and were a little snippety about it!) so we went next door to Bagel Factory. As I’m from New York and Seema is a Jersey girl we were a little hesitant to try WA bagels - after all they haven’t mastered pizza here yet - but I swear on our East Coast cred that these were serviceable, particularly after toasting.

Our next stop was South Whidbey State Park. As a State Park, visitors must have a $30 Discover Pass or risk a ticket. This fee was enacted in 2011 to cover what used to be funded through taxes. There is some discussion of ending the fee as it negatively impacts visitorship but legislators are also considering using taxes to ease homelessness or to offer free diapers. (This has been your government functionary nerd interlude.) Evidently this funding has not been extended to repairing the beach access trail. Instead we set out along the Wilbert Trail to see some of the old growth cedar trees that had been protected from harvest by Whidbey residents. Seema thought that the trail was creepy but I enjoyed skipping along calling out “interpretative signage!” and learning interesting factoids over its 1.5 mile length. 

Next we pressed on to Deception Pass on the northernmost end of the island. Pro tip: gas is very very cheap on the island. Deception Pass State Park is the most visited Park in Washington state second only to Rainier Park. The main attraction at the park is the coastline along where Skagit bay connects with the strait of San Juan de Fuca. And you could see why: by this time a thick fog had settled in a luminous mist over the driftwood strewn beach. 

The more popular trail runs along a cliff parallel to the beach towards the bridge across the pass, the site of many a tragic happening. The water underneath the bridge can reach 6 to 10 miles an hour with tidal flows so small crafts are warned away. Several desperate people have used this difficulty of navigation and rescue to commit suicide off the bridge. For this reason the bridge, like a surprising number of places on Whidbey island, is said to be haunted. it is a strange juxtaposition as it is one of the most photographed places in the state and has a stark beauty to it. Our short hike was uneventful and fantasma-less and only at the end did Seema reveal that she had not actually planned to hike that day. 

Whidbey island is also famous for food (particularly oysters) and wine. I can't comment on either as I cannot eat raw seafood or drink red wine but I did obtain some excellent cider and saw evidence of many many many delicious pies at Whidbey Pies. (We skipped a pie purchase because we had eaten way too much pirates booty on our rambles.)

Then instead of continuing to drive Northeast and meet up with Interstate 5 for a free trip back to Seattle we drove aaaaall the way back down the island to pay an arm and a leg for the ferry again because I did not listen to my horoscope.

Rowing on the Charles River

How I long to be on the water again. To feel the wind against my back. To see the “Brutalist” buildings of Harvard, the leafy green trees, and the runners in neon whizzing by in a blur. I exaggerate of course as I have never moved fast enough under my own power to blur something. To hear the bells of the bicycles, the insistent honking of cars and, rarely, a train rumbling across the bridges overhead. I miss seeing the herons in flight and the cormorants bobbing on the water - their golden beaks looking surprisingly friendly to spite their jet black bodies. I have been known to greet them as I pass. I even miss the sight of the setting sun burning into my eyes as I squint my eyes half closed hoping against hope that I don't hit anything as tears stream down my face. I miss the feeling of passing under the stone bridges and how the water becomes suddenly still, the air ten degrees cooler, and the splashing sounds echoing around me. I miss the feeling of my muscles working together. From my feet to my calves to my quads then abdominal muscles, back, and arms -- for that is the way you are to row. “Legs back arms. Arms, back legs.” we chant. I even miss the pain as the oars bite into my tender hands beginning another season of building calluses. I miss the splash of the water. The sound of the oars dipping under the surface and whooshing towards the front of the boat. Although to be honest I'm not quite strong enough to whoosh. What’s weaker than a whoosh? A swish? I even miss the smell of the stagnant river, the cars’ exhaust, and the diesel fumes of the passing trains. I miss the feeling of breathing hard and my heart beating fast - particularly when I fear that the ferry will crash into me or when I see dark ominous thunderclouds gathering overhead. I miss the sound of the fisherman yelling at me for I have tangled my boat into his line. The water from my bottle stored in a sock at my feet tastes clean and clear - no matter the film of bluegreen algae water clinging to the lip of the Nalgene. Hasn’t killed me yet. I miss the tinny electronic boom of the coach’s megaphone telling me that I should probably move faster.

And all you would have seen, as you walk across the University Bridge is a woman in neon pink, ponytail pulled through a ratty black hat skimming smoothly across the water of the Charles River in a bright red rowing shell. Whoosh, swish. But maybe she would greet you too.

Hawaii - one last arboretum

My last day in Hawaii was also sans Sika as she had an early morning flight. I figured I could drop her off at the airport and drive back to some of the scenic bits we passed (and maybe get in some snorkeling) before returning the car and meeting up with my buddy Sarah. So after a blessedly silent drive to the airport (Sika is also not a morning person.) I headed to Haunama Bay. The neat thing about getting there before dawn is you don't have to pay for parking OR the entry fee AND you get to see a sweet sunrise.

Unfortunately, the snorkel shop didn't open until 8 and the car had to be returned at 9 (and a two hour car extension which would have given me at least an hour of snorkel time cost the same as a whole extra day of rental. Can't say I didn't try.) I also missed surfing with Sarah but the early morning beach walk seemed worth it because Sarah and I got to meet up for a delicious Hawaiian style (but vegetarian) bento breakfast at Kaimana Farm Cafe and brief jaunt to Lyon Arboretum.

The Arboretum, according to their website, houses more than 19,300 individual plants representing some 6,200 taxa, especially heliconias, gingers, aroids, figs, and one of the world’s largest palm collections. We spent most of our time hiking around looking for "the scenic overlook" which didn't really overlook that much.

Sarah indulged me in getting caffeinated (because even one week in I remained jetlagged) and taking me somewhere to buy individually wrapped foods for my friends and colleagues (which in a Covid-world I wound up eating myself). Then we chilled on Waimanolo beach before heading to the airport where I absconded with Sarah's umbrella.

I will note that I have never gone straight from the beach to the airport so I had to seriously recombobulate myself in the bathroom...before flying home to an unending work from home situation and not-quite-crushing anxiety...before moving to Seattle for a new and different work from home and not-quite-crushing anxiety situation. I am endlessly grateful to Sika for suggesting this break and we definitely lucked out (perhaps through early adoption of physical distancing, avoiding buffets, and Purell-ing ourselves into oblivion.) Can't wait for the next adventure!

Hawaii - a lazy day and a circumnavigation

The next day we lazed around to prepare for our big adventure planned for Friday. We rode the trolley to Diamond Head, a volcanic crater which we had planned to hike, but upon arrival Sika declined to partake so we continued on to Leonard's bakery. On the way, the trolley driver let us know that there are two cheesecake factories on Oahu - a culturally relevant point. Leonard's bakery is famous for their malasadas but (don't shoot me) I thought the ones at Zippy's were better. (Maybe because against my better judgement I got a guava-filled one at Leonard's despite not being a big fan of squishy foods.)

On Friday, we rented a car to circuit the entire island and see all of the other ridiculous tourist items, starting with the Dole Plantation, Hawaii's Pineapple Experience. James Drummond Dole was born in my neighborhood in Boston in 1877 and was son of the minister of the Unitarian Church which I literally lived next door to. Dole went to Hahvahrd and then moved to Honolulu in 1869 and bought a 65 acre plantation which he slowly expanded as he mechanized production. (His cousin was governor after the 1893 overthrow of Queen Lili'uokalani so we're talking all sorts of imperialism.) Homeboy then bought the entire island of Lana'i which then became the largest pineapple plantation in the world at 20,000 acres. It eventually declined due to the advent of shipping by airplane, increasing the ease of competition from other producers. 

The attraction was established in 1950 as a fruit stand and morphed into what it is now in the 80s. It hosts a model plantation, the world's largest maze, a bromeliad garden, a shopping center, multiplex theater, and conference rooms and ballrooms. We went on the Pineapple Express train tour of the plantation and meandered through the garden before eating the requisite Dole Whip ice cream which was just as gross as I had expected.

Not so delicious Dole whip.

Sika made me purell myself after this photo

Then we drove over to the Banzaii pipeline to watch the surfers on the huge waves for a bit before heading up to the North Shore to eat at Giovanni's shrimp truck (I much prefer the garlic shrimp to the BBQ shrimp but either way my gall bladder suffered hard core) and get some waffles on a stick. Oreo waffles!

Sika had a small mishap in a mud puddle and went back to the car to change her pants while I wandered around the food trucks looking for tea (failure) and admiring the industrial remnants of the site. She evidently had another small mishap setting off my car alarm so I came back to find her pantsless in the hot car...and angry at me for not responding to her frantic text messages that I didn't get until about an hour later.

Then we hopped from beach to beach...

...before checking out Byodo-In, a Buddhist temple in the Valley of the Temples cemetery. 

We hit up one more beach but it was absolutely pouring so we took the scenic route back to the hotel. I passed on dinner with Sika's friends because I was still in gastrointestinal distress from the stupid  (yet delicious) shrimp and waffles. 

Hawaii - go go go

My second morning in Hawaii I woke up at 4AM and went for a mosey, ate breakfast at our hotel's lackluster buffet. and asked the concierge a gazillion questions to aid my planning for the rest of the week -- all before Sika woke up. (Actually Sika had also woken up at 4AM but decided to lay there quietly until she fell back asleep instead of go go go.)

In my questioning, I discovered that the hotel offered a shuttle to various snorkeling locales (and the airport) and that there were some ridiculously touristy trolleys that circled Honolulu at rates much higher than the buses and schedules much less convenient...but it's the experience of the thing.

Our first day we decided to go full chill and booked massages at a parlor. Evidently, there is a cottage industry in massages as we wound up in an apartment (in a building filled with apartment-based massage parlors) for our treatments. There was a beautiful view from the somewhat squicky room we were in. I chose a lomi lomi style massage - a traditional Hawaiian style the incorporates long strokes from "loving hands" and theoretically incorporates the Hawaiian concept of aloha, which means love, unification and breath, and promotes personal harmony. Therapists are taught to focus on the massage with love and intention. It was a nice thought but for some reason the therapist spent an awful lot of time on my beat up feet - perhaps because they were in rough shape.

We followed up the massage with an insane mango shaved ice and beach lounging.

The next day I again woke up at the crack of dawn, and watched the sun rise on a run on the Ala Wai canal. Once Sika was buttoned into her jumpsuit we moseyed to a fancy breakfast and then took a trolley to the Foster Botanical Garden. The trolley driver was a young man who told a wide variety of tree jokes and laughed at all of them. The Garden did not let me in at a discounted rate but the small urban park was lovely and totally worth the $5 entrance fee with a wide variety of tropical trees (and a corpse flower!) We glommed on to a tour and Sika broke my cover by telling the guide that I was an arborist and had already told her much or what he was telling the group.

(I will revisit this post with notes on specific trees when/if I ever get my journals back. I do remember the sausage tree (Kigelia africus) which has hard sausage-shaped fruits. Like break your head hard. And the calabash nutmeg (Monodora myristica) tree the flowers of which smell like, you guessed it, nutmeg. There was also a butt nut. The Lodocieae  is a one-specie family of endangered coconut palm. The male flowers are arranged in 1m long catkin which produces pollen over a ten-year period (That's a super long time non-tree nerds). The fruit is 40–50cm in diameter and weighs 15–30kg, and contains the largest seed in the world. The fruit, which requires 6–7 years to mature and a further two years to germinate, definitely looks like a butt and is sometimes also referred to as the love nut. I think the Foster Botanical Garden planted 10 and three have germinated. They are rightly super proud of them. (Also they offered me a job because their arborist left so if the Seattle rain gets to me, I have a back-up plan.)

Sika and I struck upon a division of labor where I chose the things that we did and she chose the things that we ate. It worked especially well on this day where we visited Chinatown and ate at Maguro Brothers in one of the fish markets. Best. lunch. ever. I did note that there were very few people in Chinatown as racist economic reprisals had started in response to the coronavirus. Sika and I were also stopped by a pair of (hot) cops for jaywalking. They explained that in Chinatown we were more likely to be run over (which is also racist).

After this adventure we returned to the beach to chill.

Hawaii - I arrive too early

In January or February of the Year of our Lord everythinggoestoshit, my friend Sika and I were catching up after months and months of no contact (I'm a terrible friend) and she mentioned that she would be starting an exciting new job and wanted to take a vacation beforehand but had never traveled alone. As a fantastic friend, I offered to accompany her to the Caribbean or Hawaii which were the two choices on the table at the time.

Side note: My bestie Nara and I had been trying to plan a vacation to Hawaii for March but my sister Mary said that she and her hubz were planning a trip to S. Korea and would I want to do that instead. Nara lives in Korea so we'd still get to see each other, just without the exotic trappings of sandy beaches, tropical vegetation, and volcanoes. Nara evidently told her parents that we were coming so even when Mary's trip fell through it looked like I wouldn't be able to get away without the torture of a Korean family visit - where I would be coddled and well-fed and squired around the country in style. Then coronavirus happened and travel to Korea was cancelled and I was just dumb enough to think a trip to Hawaii would be safer.

Sika and I had an exhaustive conversation about our travel styles, which I recommend for all travel buddies (or any relationship really) to set expectations and identify mismatches. Fancy or budget hotels? Hiking and biking or beaching and drinking? Dividing expenses down to the penny or within $50? Activity filled or straight-up loafing? As a go-go-go budget traveler with a $50 cushion and a mild thirst for adventure we were a slight mismatch that would have been a big deal if we hadn't talked about it.

I have a friend in Hawaii so without even asking her if she was available and willing to house me (she wasn't), I booked my ticket for the day before Sika was set to arrive. Since my friend Sarah was in fact on a research cruise counting fish or birds or something I spend my first day in Hawaii alone. After arriving to my hotel, I moseyed down to Moana Loa beach and just vegged because I was jetlagged to the core. My only goal was to make it to 9pm. Post-vegging I moseyed back up to Zippy's, Hawaii's own fast food chain, founded in 1966 and offering a fusion of Korean, Portuguese, and Hawaiian delicacies including their famous chilli. I ate a bean stew that was markedly not vegetarian, some lackluster fries, and the most delicious malasada - which I would describe as a giant donut hole.

I went to bed at 9 and woke up the next morning at 3. I waited impatiently for sunrise and then went for a run down to Moana Loa beach. Post-run I rented a bike to ride down to the Bishop Museum. However, I couldn't hear my phone's GPS directions from its position in my backpack, a problem not made better by sticking the phone in my cleavage and I got very lost in downtown Honolulu. So I returned the bike and went to Iolani palace instead.*

I made a quick stop at the Hawaii State House because I'm a nerd but there were no tours available. I was able to glean some information from Wikipedia, Lonely Planet, and a brochure distributed in the Capitol. The building was built in 1969 and is the only open air capitol building in the US. "The sky is the Capitol's dome." The building is surrounded by a reflecting pool that represents the Pacific Ocean and which is evidently plagued with algae. The legislative chambers are cone-shaped representing volcanoes and the columns are shaped like palm trees. The building has it's own liberty bell, eternal flame military memorial, and statue of Father Damian who ministered to the lepers.

My next stop was Iolani Palace, built in 1882 and home of Hawaii's last monarchs. We were all proferred slippers to make sliding around the palace more effective and an audio tour to guide us. Most notable to me was that each corner room had a smaller turret room off of it for use as a small library or dressing room or office depending on the occupant's preference. The building served five Hawaiian kings until the US government overthrew Queen Liliuokalani and sentences her to five years of hard labor (later commuted to house arrest). The tour was unflinching in its proud representation of Hawaii and Hawaiians and the fact that the deposition of the Queen was an act of warfare.

After lunch, I transferred hotels to meet up with Sika and we spent our first afternoon just chilling on Waikiki beach.

*I have no notes on this trip accessible because my journal was packed in my moving POD and evidently I'll never see my stuff again as they're holding it hostage until non-existent protests clear up in my new neighborhood.

San Francisco - to the oceans white with foam

In a strange turn of events, M had actually made reservations for Muir Woods, an old-growth redwood forest that was set aside for preservation in 1903.The tallest coastal redwood at Muir Woods is about 258 feet and the average age of the coastal redwoods at Muir Woods is between 600 to 800 years, with the oldest being at least 1200 years old. This is still young for redwoods as they can live up to 2200 years.The park itself was surprisingly cold and poor Mina was wrapped in a blanket sitting in her motorized chair. As such, we didn't do much hiking because we didn't want her to freeze.

So we moseyed on to Point Reyes National Seashore which is gorgeous but in the middle. of. nowhere. Bring snacks - that is one think that all of my siblings excel at actually. 

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I struggled to explain how I wanted us to pose for an artistic photo looking over the bluff and T kept exhorting us to get closer and closer which for some reason resulted in this giggle fest:

That evening we returned to the city for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner of Indian food. The next day was my last day in town so we spent the morning driving to scenic overlooks. From Lombard St to Twin Peaks to the Painted Ladies (ie the Full house houses).

And so ended my San Francisco interlude.

San Francisco - The family descends

On day three of the San Francisco dream, we were expecting M's husband and mother-in-law. I'm sure I had been given this important information but I must have denied the impact that a little, old, mobility-impaired, set in her ways (but perfectly charming) Indian woman in full sari would have on our plans. So in the morning I stuck close to home and walked over to the rooftop Salesforce Park. I liked how it made use of a marginal urban space, incorporated the bus station below into design elements (like a fountain that went on any time a bus went by), and stuck to drought-adapted plants. But I was struck by how unfriendly it was to the man-of-the-people element. Ok, it was hella bougie. Ironically, the New Yorker thinks so too.

I spent lunch at a session of the Association for Slavic Eastern European and Eurasian Studies (the conference my sister was organizing) about sacred (tree) groves on the border of Finland and Russia. In the Karelia region, groves of trees were used to mark sacred places, burial grounds, places of worship, and even to mark good hunts. As a forester, I asked "What kind of trees?" and was disappointed to hear that the researchers didn't know.

This marked the end of MY vacation and the beginning of the family vacation where I made suggestions but tried to be as flexible as possible with plans, which you may have guessed is not always my strong suit.

Upon T and Mina's arrival, it began to rain in earnest. Evidently the sunny weather I had been experiencing was the anomaly. Despite weather conditions, we drove over to the Golden Gate Bridge to take typically touristy photos.

Then we continued on to Ghiradelli to have sundaes for dinner. Ghiradelli was an Italian immigrant who came to the United States in 1849. In 1865 one of his employees discovered the Broma technique to purify cocoa butter and this is one of the many reasons I support open and inclusive immigration policies. 

We followed up our sundae dinners with an Indian dinner with T's cousin who interestingly had been in-sourced from India to provide IT support for a large retailer over the Black Friday sales. 

The next day, we ventured to the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose at the request of T. A sprawling mansion, the house was (mostly) built in 1886 by Sarah Winchester, widow of William Winchester of rifle-making fame. Sarah Winchester was evidently instructed by a psychic to continue construction on her house indefinitely to keep the haunting spirits of people killed by gun violence at bay. Upon Sara's death in 1922, the house had 6 kitchens, 13 bathrooms, 2,000 doors, etc, etc. It is evidently haunted by friendly ghosts and in present time there is a huge gift shop and carnival games on the premises as well. I'm not entirely sure why it is such a popular tourist attraction.

We continued on to The Tech Interactive, a unique hands-on museum with displays on hacking, medical technology, and design. We debated for quite some time whether we wanted to see Frozen 2 in IMAX before or after having dinner with my buddy Lin. Given strict instructions to choose Indian, Chinese, or Thai (maaaaybe Mexican), we hung with Lin over Thai food in Palo Alto (where my super intelligent friend is getting a PhD at Stanford.) Unfortunately, as we ate someone smashed the window of our rental car and grabbed my sister's backpack and my ukulele. Lin was a great sport and hung out with Mina and me for two hours at Starbucks as the rental car was exchanged.

We never did see Frozen 2.

San Francisco - The Rock

In a rare moment of planning and forethought, I had reserved tickets for the boat to Alcatraz in advance. So day two in San Francisco I moseyed over to the piers for my prison tour. I was probably the only person to go alone - so I skipped the photo opportunity on the ferry.

Alcatraz was an active prison between 1934 and 1963. It was considered a last resort for the worst of the worst criminals - which struck me as interesting because many of the inmates were gangsters and bank-robbers that we have since glorified and made famous.

The display at the Visitor Center highlighted that the island sits on the original homeland of the Ohlone people. In 1964 and 1969, indigenous groups from all over the United States re-occupied their land for three years. According to the National Park Service, "During the period the occupiers were on Alcatraz Island, President Nixon returned Blue Lake and 48.000 acres of land to the Taos Indians. Occupied lands near Davis California would become home to a Native American university. The occupation of Bureau of Indian Affairs offices in Washington, D.C. would lead to the hiring of Native Americans to work in the federal agency that had such a great effect on their lives."

Yes most of my photos were of plants. Upon returning to San Fran proper, I got a traditional clam chowder in a sourdough bowl and then hiked up Lombard St. (It is not as exciting walking as it would be driving but I was just pleased that I didn't hurl.) Then I trolleyed my way back downtown where I had a drink alone in the hotel bar.