little black journal

Tuesday was our last full day in Amsterdam, and we left our footprints all over the city that day, zipping from one end of town to the other and back again, several times over, to eat/sight-see/eat/sight-see, etc.

We started the day at the Albert Cuyp market, after hearing from several people that this huge outdoor bazaar is a destination for tourists and locals alike. I expected to find stall after stall of fine, hand-made Dutch goods, and a good smattering of delicious food stands stocked with brightly colored produce, but was surprised to find that the market’s offerings were more of the discount-bin genre, with hot deals on everything from toothpaste to leather boots. Bright colors came in the form of wigs and leggings, rather than berries and squash. We didn’t stick around long, deciding we’d rather spend the morning checking out a few of the sights at the north end of town.

We took the tram north, just past the train station, and hopped out to check a few somewhat recent additions to Amsterdam’s contemporary architecture scene. Amsterdam really does feel like the best of both worlds, architecture-wise – perfectly preserved centuries-old buildings, and new, exciting projects that blaze new trails rather than trying to mimic the old. I didn’t love every modern building we saw, but I appreciated the willingness to innovate and make bold architecural statements. We could use a little more of that in Seattle…

Music Building on the IJ by 3XN:

Public Library by Jo Coenen:

NEMO Science Center by Renzo Piano:

And to walk just a couple of blocks from this crazy new modern stuff and still find this rich, charming, old stuff – that’s pretty cool.

Building-gazing had made us hungry, so we trammed over to the city center for lunch at Cafe de Jaren. Hot tomato soup and a toasted cheese sandwich (with chevre, honey, and thyme – mmm…) never tasted so good. We were re-fueled and ready for more. We headed south to what I assume is Amsterdam’s business district, filled with interesting new skyscrapers:

The Rock by Erick van Egaraat:

Tower with crazy outdoor staircase:

I loved these fun vertical fins on the back-side of an other-wise simple building. These pops of color are such a good surprise, especially in a climate as gray and rainy as Amsterdam’s (again, we could use more of this in Seattle):

Architecture appetite whetted, we headed back into town to do a little more canal-side strolling. Unfortunately, the high winds had given way to a steady rain, and we were starting to feel chilled. And damp. And possibly a bit cranky. The solution? Dutch apple pie topped with an insane mound of whipped cream, paired with a steaming cup of tea. One bite of this beauty from Cafe Papaneiland in the Jordaan neighborhood, and all was right with the world again.

We hung out in the cafe for over an hour, actually enjoying the rain (rather than cursing it) from our warm, cozy window-side table. As tempted as I was to stay there all day, we did want to do a bit more exploring, so we buttoned up our rain-jackets, grabbed our umbrella, and went back at it:

We ended our walk with dinner at Lion Noir, a French-inspired restaurant near Rembrandtplein that was only so-so, but followed that with one of the best desserts ever from Cafe Morlang (we had our first meal in the city at this place on Saturday and thought it would be a fitting way to end our trip). A hot waffle topped with honey, star anise ice cream, and fresh mangos; a head full of pleasant Dutch memories; and the certainty that someday, we will be back; and we said our bittersweet goodbye to charming Amsterdam.

We decided to spend yesterday checking out some of the small towns outside of Amsterdam – friends had recommended both Delft and Haarlem for their quaint, old-town sights. We boarded the train at Amsterdam Centraal and one hour later, we arrived in Delft, home of Johannes Vermeer, a heap of famous old hand-painted pottery, and plenty of canal-side charm. The first thing on our list was to climb the old church tower and get a birds-eye view of the city. Sadly, the tower was closed due to excessively high winds, and so we settled for a spin through the main part of the church to gaze at the centuries-old stonework and brilliant stained glass. Not a bad consolation prize.

After leaving the church, we grabbed lunch at a cute little cafe, enjoying the chance to get out of the wind and listen to the happy chatter of Dutch coming from a nearby table. If I ever manage to master the French language, I’m picking up Dutch next.

Fueled by our broodje (Dutch for sandwiches, unless I really misread the menu), we strolled up and down the canals, hardly believing that places this old and this lovely still exist in today’s modern world.

Our wandering eventually led us back to the station, where we caught a train back toward Haarlem. Haarlem has fewer canals than Delft, but the streets are just as charming, with beautiful brickwork and flower-filled pots on every other doorstep.

And the bikes – oh, geez, the bikes! Everywhere we look, it’s hard to find a single tree or railing or sign post that doesn’t have at least 3 or 4 bikes chained to it. Everyone in Holland seems to get around on two wheels – teenagers chatting on cell phones, business men in expensive suits, moms peddling away with a kid or two tucked into the their little bike-rigged buggies, you name it.

The wind and the walking began to wear on us, and so we ducked into a warm, lively bar for some liquid energy – I opted for mint tea, which is served here as a cup of hot water jammed full of fresh mint leaves (so, so good), and Shane chose a glass of whatever beer on the menu he thought he could pronounce correctly.

We headed back to Amsterdam for a simple pub-style dinner and a little more canal-side strolling, which was cut short by the onset of steady rain. Thankfully, there isn’t any shortage of cozy cafes and bars in which to take refuge from the weather, so we ended the evening with a glass of wine at a little hole-in-the-wall and then called it a night…or a ‘nacht’. I’m catching on.

After 16 hours of being in transit, we arrived in Amsterdam yesterday afternoon, weary, but so, so excited that our much-anticipated vacation was finally beginning. And from the moment our train from the airport rolled into rolled into town, I knew we were in for something special. The charm of this city is undeniable – it hits you around every corner and will make you ooh and ahh like the most unsophisticated of tourists, as evidenced by the fact that I grabbed Shane every two minutes to ask ‘could this place possibly be any cuter?!’ The unique-but-perfectly-matched brick facades, the dreamy canals, the lively sound of Dutch rolling of the tongues of the locals…I was immediately smitten.

I was also ravenous, as we hadn’t had a real meal for nearly a full day (turns out those tickets on Iceland Air were so cheap for a reason), so after dropping off our bags at the hotel, we set out in search of a place to grab a bite. Our wandering landed us at Cafe Morlang, a cozy little canal-side bistro where we scarfed down a grilled ham sandwich and a perfectly-fried order of fish and chips.

Bellies full, we enjoyed the feeling of the sun streaming through the windows and it was all I could do not to curl up in my plush booth and take a little nap – jet lag was quickly setting in. And so we peeled ourselves out of our seats and set out to a little more walking. Cue charming canal:

We were about to head back to our hotel when we saw a crowd gathered at a nearby plaza and headed over to see what the draw was. We spent the next 15 minutes watching an impressive troop of break dancers put on quite a show. I couldn’t help nodding my head to the beat and joining with the cheering spectators. These little surprises are one of my most favorite things about Europe.

We ended the day with a short stroll through Vondelpark, before succumbing to our tiredness and turning in early (as in, 6 pm!). We’d thought a little power nap would be all we’d need to recharge and then head back out for late-night cocktails, but once our heads hit those pillows, we were out.

We awoke to rain this morning, but didn’t let that deter us from heading out for a leisurely walk to the Pancake Bakery for breakfast. We stuffed ourselves on pancakes (which were more like crepes), topped with ham and cheese, and then bananas and rum, and we fueled for another stroll though town. Again and again, I was struck by the quaintness of each street we crossed.

Just as the rain was threatening to soak through our rain coats, we took refuge in the Van Gogh museum. We ended up cutting our visit a little short due to the massive crowds, but were there long enough to gain an entirely new appreciation for the artist – did you know that Van Gogh practiced art (without any formal training) for only 10 years before his untimely death, but left behind over 800 paintings and some 1,100 drawings? You can stick that one in your art trivia memory bank.

Post-museum, we decided we’d get an architecture fix and take the tram to the edge of town to check out a couple of projects I was interested in seeing (but not before snapping the requisite tourist photo).

First on the list was ‘The Whale’, a contemporary housing project by de Architekten Cie. I was one of those ‘how did they come up with this?’ kind of buildings. And I dug it.

After taking in The Whale, we walked over to the Borneo housing development, master planned by West 8. Each row-house along the pier was unique, creating an interesting collage of facades. Shane and I picked out our future home and will begin negotiations with the owners as soon as possible.

A few more photos, and then the rain really started to chill us, so we hopped back on the tram toward the city center for dinner. We landed at De Prins, another cozy little bistro, where we proceeded to have one of those meals that will certainly go down in the books as an Amsterdam highlight. Part of it was the ambiance (candlelight, rain falling outside), part of it was the food (a simple linguine, followed by an exceedingly rich cheese fondue, paired with a crisp white wine), part of it was the fact that today is my birthday (indeed, I am no longer in my 20′s…), but mostly it was just the chance to thoroughly enjoy the feeling of spending an evening abroad with my very best friend. Our conversation tonight wasn’t anything especially revealing or life-altering, but I was struck several times by just how much I really, really like hanging out with this amazing guy that I get to be married to. He’s a catch, that Shane… We ended our meal with a cappuccino and a glass of Port (you can guess who ordered what), and then headed back out into the drizzle.

And because it was my birthday and all, we stopped for gelato just around the corner. Fondue, coffee, and dessert? I was one happy camper.

It continued to drizzle on and off, but we didn’t let that deter us from a nighttime stroll, enjoying the ripples in the canals and the reflections of the lights on the cobblestone sidewalks. It’s been a full-but-relaxing day – packed with those ‘there’s no place else I’d rather be’ kind of moments. Happy birthday to me.

After a hectic week of work travel and deadline-ing back at the office, then scurrying around at home to get our bags packed and the house cleaned (I’m kind of neurotic about pre-vacation housekeeping), we. are. off! And praise God, ’cause we need this getaway. Shane and I are both feeling dog-tired right about now. I’ve been focused on trying to prepare for the trip properly, wanting to make sure we see the best museums and eat at the best restaurants and speak the right language, but now, what I want more than anything from this vacation is deep, quality, life-giving rest. If this means skipping a round of cocktails to turn in early, so be it. If we decide to pass on the Louvre for the sake of spending an afternoon reading in a cafe, that’s a-ok with me. Then again, maybe there’s rejuvenation to be found in liquor and art – I’m just committing to making sure the want-to’s take priority over the should-do’s. We’ll see where the Dutch winds blow us (the forecast for Amsterdam is 30 mph winds and rain, so this isn’t just a metaphor!). I’ll report from the other side of the pond – a bientot…

I’ve been feeling the travel itch for awhile now, dreaming of places to go, things to see, food to eat, leisure to live…  Shane and I went back and forth over what we thought our Fall vacation should look like, wanting to go for the gusto, but not knowing if the timing was right for an ultimate vay-cay.  After monitoring ticket prices and checking our work schedules, we threw caution to the wind and decided this was the year to make a European voyage happen.  After doing my routine Expedia search at lunchtime a couple of months ago, I found a killer deal on flights, grabbed the phone and called Shane with a ‘Buy NOW!’ directive, and within a matter of minutes, we were booked!  One week in Holland and Belgium, and one glorious week in Paris.  This weekend we put the finishing touches on our itinerary, confirming our train tickets and reserving the last of our accommodations.  Four nights in Amsterdam, two nights in Bruges, two nights in Lyon, and seven whole nights in the City of Light.  And with our departure just over two weeks away, I have officially become crazy with excitement.  I’ve been spending my evenings making my eat/see/do list – looking forward to taking in both the modern and funky, and the old and beautiful.  We’re going to stay up late and drink wine and walk along the sparkly Seine, then get up late and eat pain au chocolate paired with tiny cups of espresso.  I am going to stand in front of my favorite Dubuffet painting at the Pompidou, and speak French (God willing) with waiters and those lovely-but-so-unhelpful people at the Metro ticket window.  We’re going to explore places we’ve never been, and return to places that rank as our all-time favorite spots on the face of the earth.  I’m going to eat everything on this list and not feel bad about it.  And we are going to bask in the simple-but-too-often-forgotten fact that la vie est belle…

When Jack sent out an invite a couple of months ago for the Oregon Wine Country Half-Marathon, I knew that several of our friends would be up for the run; I knew that even more of our friends would be up for the wine (I’ll give you one guess as to which category Shane fell into and which category I fell into). Runners were registered, an awesome house on the Willamette River was booked, and we were off! We arrived at the house on Friday night to join the Rust clan, who had set up camp there earlier in the week. And from the moment I set foot on the wide open wooden deck, I knew we were in for an epic weekend. When I said that the house was on the river, I wasn’t kidding – our party pad was literally floating on the waters of the quiet Willamette, with a big deck (complete with a firepit) and a shed stocked with numerous floatation devices. Even though it was well past sundown, I was already thinking about where exactly I’d spread our my towel the next day for an afternoon of sun-soaking.  And I knew that the firepit held some definite s’more-making potential.

We were up early on Saturday to grab breakfast in Lake Oswego and then head to Portland, to hit the famous Saturday Farmers Market that fills the Park Blocks.   Agenda: check out the food stands, lay on the grass, and grab a weekend supply of fresh fruit.

The nectarines were ripe and juicy – like summer wrapped up in a pretty, round, red-orange package.  And the raspberries…O.M.G.

The market’s entertainment offerings weren’t bad either – the Rust boys were entranced by a man playing the didgeridoo – if only I had a video of the way little G was stomping along to the music…

After the farmers market (and a quick stop at Barista – so, so good), we headed back to the house and spent the rest of the afternoon swimming, sunning, and making sure our runners were hydrating and carbo-loading with cold beer and home-made pizza.  The daredevils decided to use the second story porch as a launch pad into the river – Jack takes the prize for ‘best kung-fu dive’.

And Nancy easily won ‘smallest splash’.

As we all gathered on the deck to watch the sun go down, I was struck by how much I have to be thankful for – good friends, good food, and such a good, good life in the Pacific Northwest…

And good God, 10 hours later, I was up to see the runners off and watch the sun come up!  5:30 is way earlier than I’d ever choose to wake up on a Sunday morning, but this sky almost made it worth it.

A couple hours after our seven half-marathoners hit the road, the cheering squad set out for the finish line, ready with signs and grins and plenty of ‘wooooo-woooooo’s!”.  The runners had registered together for the race under the team name, ‘tuna kambia’, which means ‘we are running’ in Swahili.

And indeed, they were running.  Ten minutes before we expected to greet any of our friends at the finish line, Jason appeared on the horizon.  This man has a gift – he’ll swear he’s never been a long-distance runner, and yet he ran 13.2 miles in 1 hour and 35 minutes.  Insane!

Chris finished just a few minutes behind Jason, and then Shane trotted by, a tired-but-proud smile on his face.

Jack, Megan, Brian, and Nicole weren’t far behind.  Everyone ran a really stellar race, and there were high-fives and sweaty hugs all around.  It’s not entirely surprising that while most of the runners rejoined the rest of us with a water bottle in hand, Jack appeared out of nowhere carrying a glass of Rose.  He’s been telling Shane for years that studies have shown that the best way to re-hydrate after a run is with a pint of beer, and so I don’t doubt he’ll soon be be singing the praises of wine’s post-exercise restorative properties.

So proud of them all!

After a few visits to the wine-tasting booths that had set up shop near the finish line, we decided to head back toward the house.  But first, one short-but-essential pit-stop:

We had been wanting to checkout Winderlea Winery for awhile – we tried to visit this place when we visited Oregon wine country with Jack and La Verne last summer and were bummed to find that it was closed for a private event.  But this time, we made sure we were the first ones in the door – we gathered around the big table and began to watch the Pinot flow.

The wines were tasty, the setting was gorgeous, and everyone was just so…merry.

Although I could have spent all day sipping and sunning on the winery’s patio, the runners were tired and hungry (and in need of showers…), and so we headed back to the house for an afternoon of swimming, lounging, eating, drinking, swimming, lounging, eating, drinking, and so on.  That day will go down as one of my favorite days of this summer.

And just when the day felt like it couldn’t have gotten any better, Jack busted out this:

Yes, that’s a 3-liter bottle of wine.  When Jack uncorked it, I thought, ‘There’s no way we’ll finish that thing.’  I was wrong.  The rest of the night was spent stuffing ourselves on homemade chili verde, followed by roasted marshmallows for dessert.  We were one tired, fat, happy group by the time bedtime rolled around.

On Monday morning it was time to bid a sad farewell to our riverside home.  We ate a killer home-cooked breakfast together (seriously, our friends don’t mess around when it comes to eating), I soaked in the view from the deck one last time, Shane enjoyed a few more minutes of quality time with little Zebo.

And then we said our good-byes, not wanting to believe that the weekend was really over.  Life on the water was so good while it lasted…

When Shane told me that his job was sending him to Las Vegas for a few days for a conference and asked me if I’d like to tag along, I thought…Vegas?  I had a fabulous time when I got to tag along during the same conference in San Francisco two years ago, but…Vegas?  I was there ten years ago and if memory served me correctly, I really wouldn’t fit in there – I don’t know the first thing about gambling, I don’t own a miniskirt or 6-inch heels, and I don’t think I have the stomach for a prime rib buffet.  But far be it from me to turn down the promise of sunshine and poolside cocktails, so I grabbed my highest-SPF sunscreen, unearthed every swimsuit I own from the depths of my dresser, and I was officially on board.

From the moment our taxi dropped us off at the Palazzo, we were both a bit overwhelmed.  The scale of everything was so much grander than what we’re used to seeing – hotel lobbies with 50-foot ceilings, huge casino floors packed with slot machines and black jack tables and ladies in tight dresses walking by with trays of cocktails, and hotel corridors that felt like they stretched on forever.  Add to that a confusing mix of sensory deprivation and sensory overload – while indoors, you typically don’t have access to daylight or fresh air, but at the same time, your senses are flooded with a myriad of sounds, with flashing lights, conditioned air, and the presence of so many people.   It was a lot to take in.  But we were bound to make the most of our Nevadan adventure, and so while Shane checked into our room, I ran across the street to the same-day discount ticket booth to see if I could score us seats for a show that evening.  I came back with tickets to Le Reve and Shane and I made our way to our beautiful hotel suite – looked like Vegas was going to be A-OK.

We spent the rest of the afternoon taking refuge from the heat inside the gigantic hotel/shopping/restaurant complex that is the Palazzo/Venetian, and then swimming at the luxurious hotel pool.

We grabbed a quick bite before the show and then made our way over to the Wynn for the show.  From the moment we walked into the theater, with its brightly patterned tented ceiling and circular rows of seats that surrounded a blue, misty pool, we knew we were in for something special.  And Le Reve certainly did not disappoint – stunning costumes, gasp-inducing acrobatics, and surprises around every corner, as people in sea-monster costumes crawled out from the aisles and ladies in sequined costumes were dropped from one hundred feet in the air into the pool below.  It was exactly what you would expect from Vegas – flashy, bold, and over-the-top.

We turned in early that night, as I was feeling a little under the weather and wanted to rest up for a day full of sight-seeing and sun-soaking.  Unfortunately, I woke up Monday morning feeling achy and feverish, with some kind of flu.  I ventured out in the morning in search of a healthy breakfast (which was nowhere to be found) and snapped a few pictures while on the Strip.  Somewhere between the canals of the Venetian and the Venus de Milo at Caesars Palace, I really started to wonder at the alternate universe that is Vegas.  There’s just so much…faux.  Everything is a replica of something else, from the miniature Eiffel Tower to the funky Corinthian columns.

My sore throat and achy bones, along with the rapidly rising temperatures (which topped out at 109 degrees that day – yikes!), soon drove me back to our room, where I contentedly spent most of the afternoon watching TV in our plush and comfy bed, deciding I had just enough energy to head down the pool and stake my claim on one of the lounge chairs in pool for a couple of hours (yes – they put lounge chairs in the really shallow portion of the pool, so you can enjoy the sun while being half-submerged in the water…brilliant!).

We had a nice dinner at Le Cave that night, and once again, I turned in early…In a city known for its nightlife.  Did I mention I wasn’t Vegas material?

By Tuesday, I was feeling much better and figured all I needed to get me back to 100% was a fruit smoothie and a couple hours of retail therapy.  I spent the morning cruising around Fashion Show Mall with my Jamba Juice in hand, scoring a couple of good deals before heading back to the hotel for an afternoon of poolside lounging.  Shane got away from the conference a little early and was able to join me for a swim.  I camped out there all afternoon with my book, working on my tan and finally feeling like I was getting on board with the whole Vegas vacation thing.  It was a great day – completely relaxing, worry-free, and self-indulgent.  Tuesday night was our last night to really live it up, since I had a Wednesday morning flight back to Seattle, and so we headed out in search of lights, luck, and liquor.  The Strip is insane at night time – people crowd the sidewalks, spilling out of the casinos and bars, lights and music seem to radiate from every surface.

Determined to take it all in, we walked as far as the Bellagio and caught the famed fountain show.  It was indeed impressive – and as a bonus, the spray from the fountains provided some momentary relief from the heat!

From there, we meandered back toward the Palazzo, stopping in a couple of casinos to test our luck.  Turns out I am decidedly unlucky.  Shane cut me off after a pretty sad streak at the slots, and then I watched him walk away from video blackjack with his shoulders slumped.  To his credit, he did make the three dollars I had in my pocket last for nearly half an hour, and he had tripled his money at one point, but apparently he has yet to learn when to quit, and so we both walked away without any of our meager gambling allowance.  We found solace at the bar of Table 10, in my glass of wine and Shane’s shot of quality bourbon.  And so all was not lost – we’d still enjoyed a fun night out on the town, and I had managed, on my last night in Vegas, to stay up past 10 pm.

The verdict:  as much I loved my afternoons by the pool, and as grateful as I am for the chance we had to experience something new, I doubt we’ll head back to Sin City anytime soon.  It’s just not our scene.  At least, not until I find the courage to replace my Gap sundress with something more like this…

We spent this weekend keeping tradition alive, taking part in our fourth annual c-group camping trip.  We all piled into our cars on Friday afternoon, and by sundown we had set up our own little tent city in Larrabee State Park as sixteen of us gathered around the campfire to kick off a weekend of eating, lounging, laughing, and outdoors-ing.  Shane threw a whole slew of bratwursts on the grill for dinner, and thus, the feeding frenzy began (good thing I’d spent the previous three days eating light…).

The rest of the night was full of s’mores, beer, and campfire chat.  Is there any better way to spend a summer evening in the Pacific Northwest?

The fire did double duty all weekend, as both heat source and food cooker.  We roasted, toasted, grilled, and flame-broiled, at morning and at night.  Flame-toasted bagels for breakfast?  Mmmm-hmmm…

After breakfast, we headed over to the little stretch of beach near the campground for playtime.  The agenda:  frisbee-tossing, wiffle ball, rock-skipping, lounging.

Shane was thrilled to discover that his best little buddy, the G-man, is a fellow rock-skipper.

We headed back to the campsite for lunch, and then staked out a spot in a nearby field where the boys (and the athletically-inclined women) could play a game of football, while the less-inclined women could stretch out on the sidelines in the sun.  I’ll give you one guess as to which group I was in…

All that playing put us in the mood for Happy Hour and so we headed down the road for a round of super-fresh oysters at Taylor Shellfish. Sprinkled with lemon juice and paired with a glass (er…red plastic cup) of white wine, these were perfect.  One slurp and I was rethinking my long-held oyster-aversion.  Maybe it was the scenery, maybe it was the smell of salt-water wafting through the air, or maybe it was the company of such good friends, but wowsers, those were some tasty little suckers.

The rest of the evening was passed back at the campsite.  Shane spent some quality time with his other little buddy, Zebo, Jack grilled a chicken and veggie-kebob dinner that rivaled the meals we’re able to prepare at home in our fully-equipped kitchen, and we toasted marshmallows and told stories until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer (all of that chillin’ had me tuckered out).

It seemed we were all a little reluctant to leave this morning – it was hard to coax Brian, Shane, and Nicole (that’s her feet) out of their tree-anchored cocoons (I’m adding a hammock to the REI wishlist).

We sat around the campfire talking until check-out rules required us to begrudgingly break down camp and let the fire die (but not until we’d ended  s’mores smack-down: round 3, in which Jack completely changed the game with a bacon-chocolate-marshmallow creation).

I’m washing the smoke smell out of my clothes with a sigh tonight, knowing it will be a year before we’re able to embark on another weekend like this one.  There’s some solace in knowing that I’ll shortly be drifting off to sleep in our soft, cozy bed, but there’s also quite a bit of sadness in knowing that toasted marshmallows aren’t on the menu for breakfast tomorrow…

The past couple of weeks have been pretty low-key for us – we’ve stayed close to home, venturing out for game nights with friends or when pizza cravings call us to Tutta Bella, but other than that, we’ve been livin’ the slow life.  Hours have been whiled away reading on the couch (translation: napping with a book resting on my stomach) or watching old Harry Potter movies in preparation for our plans to see HP 7 next week.  These leisure-filled weekends and evenings have been nice, but a couple of days ago, I started to get antsy.  Itchy with the desire to visit someplace new, see something we’ve never seen before, get out and do some exploring.  So when a little instant message from Shane popped up on my computer on Friday afternoon with the words, “Should we go have an adventure tomorrow?”, I thought, “Hallelujah!  We’re skipping town!”  Granted, we use the word “adventure” lightly, as what we ended up planning was a day trip to Vashon Island (which is a 20-minute ferry-ride from Seattle), but still, I was looking forward to checking out this uncharted territory.

We woke to clear, sunny skies on Saturday morning – perfect ferry weather.  We drove right onto the boat after a short wait at the terminal, and we were off!

Shane had done a little research and we had a list of a couple of things to check out on the island, starting with the Saturday Farmer’s Market. Vashon is home to several small farms, and we were looking forward to perusing the local offerings.  I bought a carton of plump raspberries and devoured them with my morning coffee, admiring the piles of leafy greens and freshly-picked beans on the other tables, then feeling our hunger spike as we eyed the cheese stand and smelled the sizzling meat at the little taco booth on the corner.  And so we crossed the street for lunch at The Hardware Store, which we’d heard is the island’s most popular restaurant.  We settled into our table by the window and eyed the appetizing fare on the table next to us – the breakfast special and the fish tacos both looked super-tasty, so we ordered them both to share.  Verdict:  yum.  The food wasn’t fancy, but it was hearty, well-prepared, and just the fuel we needed for an afternoon of sight-seeing.

My expectations of spending several hours cruising a loop around the island were slightly unrealistic, as it turns out you can drive from one tip of the island to the other in 20 minutes flat, but we did stumble upon a jem when our meandering landed us at Point Robinson on Maury Island (the baby brother to Vashon Island, connected by an isthmus).  We walked down to the pebbly beach and found a perfect piece of driftwood from which we could soak in the sun and enjoy the view of Mount Rainer.  Then Shane threw some rocks (never gets old), we checked out the itty-bitty lighthouse (took all of 15 seconds), and walked one of the short trails that took us through the lush, fern-filled forests.  I love being able to experience sunny beaches and shady woods all in the space of 30 minutes – I suppose I was destined for the Northwest.

We hopped back in the car and headed over to the other side of Maury Island – Dockton was one of the larger words on the map, so I figured that must be where the town center is located, but in the 8 seconds that it took for us drive through Dockton’s main drag, I didn’t even see a post office, so we shrugged our shoulders and headed back toward Vashon.  We pit-stopped at Vashon Coffee Roasterie for ice cream sandwiches and a cold drink on the Mayberry-esque wood porch.  I think I saw Opie walk by (then again, I may have been delusional with the atypical dose of Vitamin D I’d gotten that day…).

We passed the rest of the afternoon visiting with our friend Michelle at her grandparents’ house on the island.  Michelle’s grandpa showed us around their impressive garden, full of corn and berries and quickly-sprouting beans, and then we all sat out on the back porch and chatted over cold lemonade and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies (seriously, her grandparents belong in the hospitality hall of fame).  Life out there seemed so peaceful, so un-rushed, so good.  Shane and I are already making retirement plans…  And honestly, who wouldn’t want to get their milk from a store that looks like this?!

Before long, it was time for us to catch our ferry back home, so we bid farewell to Michelle and to Vashon, knowing that our first visit wouldn’t be our last.  Our little “adventure” turned out to be of rather mellow proportions, but it turned out that just living the slow life island-style was still perfectly fulfilling.

It’s been kind of a garbage dump of a week, so I’ve had my sights set on this three-day weekend for the past few days.  Since Monday, I’ve been making my Saturday plans:  sleep in, roll out of bed only for a latte and a scone, and then roll back into bed for an afternoon with Harry Potter and Season 6 of Lost.  I believed it was just what I needed.  But then my more adventurous, more fun-loving better half turned to me on Thursday night and said, “What if we woke up on Saturday morning in a different country, instead?”  We quickly Price-lined a hotel in Vancouver, packed our bags, and as soon as the whistle blew on Friday afternoon, we were Canada-bound.

It wasn’t until I started looking online for things to do near our hotel that I realized July 1st was in fact Canada Day, so we would be in the thick of the country’s annual ‘birthday’ celebration.  As soon as we got into the city, traffic slowed to a crawl, as the streets were swarming with people clad in red and white, waving their maple leaf-adorned flags as they danced to the music of any number of bands that had set up shop on the street corners.  We snaked our way to our hotel, gladly ditched our car at the parking garage, and set out in search of 1) good food, and 2) general merriment and festive-ness.  Jack and La Verne had recommended Zakkushi for dinner, a cozy little Yakitori joint just a few blocks from where we were staying.  We snagged a couple of seats at the bar and promptly began ordering to our heart’s delight – items on the menu were about two dollars apiece, and we wanted to try to try just about everything.  For the next hour, the waitress brought us plate after plate of pork-wrapped asparagus, grilled quail eggs, and miscellaneous chicken parts, paired with cold, refreshing pints of Sapporo.

Happy and well-nourished, we waddled out of the restaurant and followed the throngs of people to the waterfront in hopes of catching the big fireworks show.  We staked out a little spot at the harbor’s edge and watched bang after bang of red and white lights.  I marveled at how unknowingly perfect our timing had been in our last-minute decision to make the trip up to Vancouver – you don’t see this every night!

Post-fireworks, we headed toward Gastown to check out the Pourhouse – an allegedly ‘legit’ bar where bartenders respect and know their cocktails.  Shane was determined to verify such rumors, so we plopped ourselves on a couple of barstools and promptly ordered our fist round of drinks.  Shane was impressed with his Fernet-laced Toronto, and my Golden Fizz (gin, lemon, egg, soda water) was perfectly creamy-but-light. Verdict: this bar was indeed legit.

By the time we left Gastown, it was nearly 1 am, which is pretty late for an old married couple such as ourselves, so we cabbed it back to the hotel and fell into bed with a couple of food and drink-induced smiles on our faces.  It had been a very good night.

I was delighted to see sun shining through the curtains early the next morning – I peeked outside and took in the view of the harbor and mountains, pleased that it would be a perfect day for touring the city.

Shane threw on his running clothes and headed out for a jog around Stanley Park.  I thought about joining him for all of six seconds, and then decided instead to head back to bed for awhile – I just wasn’t quite ready to give up on my plans of a Saturday sleep-in.  Hunger eventually pulled me back out of bed, and we left the hotel mid-morning in search of breakfast.  I followed a recommendation for a good crepe place just down the street, so we grabbed a quick bite and then decided that the sunshine was calling us back toward Stanley Park.  We found a place that offered cheap bike rentals, hopped on our super-rad orange cruisers, and we were off!  It was an incredibly leisurely ride, as we stopped every few minutes to take in the scenery and snap a few photos.  Shane said it was the longest bike ride he’d been on without breaking a sweat – that’s what I’m talkin’ about…

We returned our bikes mid-afternoon and knew that we needed to take advantage of Vancouver’s culinary offerings at least one more time before hitting the road.  We settled on ramen at Motomachi Shokudo, another trusted recommendation from Jack and La V.  And wowsers – these Vancouver-ites don’t mess around when it comes to their noodle soup!  Rich, flavorful broth filled with soft-but-not-too-soft noodles and tender slices of pork.  I dont think I’ll ever be able to go back to those 25-cent packages of Top Ramen that I loved so much in college…

We ended our trip in Yaletown, for gelato and a stroll along the waterfront, then down the charming brick-lined streets.  I love this neighborhood – we’re looking forward to spending more time here next time we’re back.

And with that, it was time to hit the long dusty trail back to Seattle.  Thanks, Canada – our spirits were higher when we left than we arrived, so I’d say our little getaway was a smashing success.