A Snug Harbor

Housesitting nirvana.

Yesterday morning, a storm with a severe wind advisory descended on Washington. Winds made the windows shriek. We jumped from bed. Time to feed the dog, pack, and clean the house. Our two-week Seaview, Washington house sit was over. The owners were returning in a few hours.

Our next house sit, in Seattle, wouldn't start for a few days. We planned to drive up the Olympic Peninsula, exploring beaches, trails, little towns. But no way, not with this storm. We'd hunker down for a few days, probably at a hotel or BnB in nearby Astoria.

Cape Disappointment State Park...not a disappointing nearby hike.

I stuffed the sheets in the washing machine and cleaned up the kitchen while Dave vacuumed every nook and cranny of the sweet Victorian. It's fun to know homeowners will return to a super clean house, the animals fed and happy. Bill and Sherry--a doctor and a nurse--had been in Nigeria on a medical mission. They'd worked long days in 100-plus heat. They were likely to appreciate a comfortable return.

The good news was that we hadn't burned down the house. One afternoon, a neighbor had alerted us to weird, white smoke shooting out of the chimney. A chimney fire. For a few tense hours we monitored it. Fortunately, it self-extinguished without the help of the fire department, whom we had on speed dial. By email, Bill had been apologetic. I said don't worry about it. There were other sources of heat. And we loved being here.

Willapa National Refuge

Why? Let me count the ways. Near the beach. Incredible nature hikes. A great bakery (not to be understated after more than a year in S.E. Asia, where we craved American baked goods). Amazing seafood. There's a little cannery a few blocks away where we bought a case of smoked tuna, infused with pepper and lemon.

Seriously delicious fish-and-chips, tuna melt, fish tacos.

During our stay, I got together with an old high school buddy who lives nearby. And my friend Anne (who lives in Portland) visited for a couple of days. I always like to ask the owners if they are okay with visitors, and they usually are. In fact, Bill had been quite enthusiastic about it, saying he hoped we'd enjoy the area.

With poet/artist Anne Paris Jennings. It had been 9 years!

And now it was time to go. While Dave packed the car, I took Freckles for a walk to the nearby beach. The wind was whipping but the sky was blue. Rain wouldn't roll in for an hour or two.

pure love

Ah, Freckles. Rescued from a puppy mill and so full of love. Our last walk. There are lots of firsts and lasts in nomadic life. Everything changes, and nomads don't suffer the illusion of stasis.

The waves were massive. This storm meant business. We didn't know where we'd be spending the night. And our Subaru had developed a bit of a leak in the back, not a big problem unless you were driving through a downpour with your car packed.

You can drive on the beaches here.

I ached a little for the cozy sweetness of the house. And a small part of me was excited, as always, about the unknown of the "next thing."

Bill and Sherry arrived on time. Freckles and Robbie were happy to see them, which always makes leaving the animals easier.

Robbie, a Scottish fold

As we talked, they told us they've been to more than 90 countries! So often the people we housesit for are part of our traveling tribe. When they asked where we were headed next, we explained how the storm had put a kink in our plans.

"Well, why don't you stay here a few more days?" They said. In unison! They didn't need to consult in private. They spontaneously, simultaneously offered up their generosity. Turned out, they had come only to pick up the animals then head back to their main residence, a few hours north.

Dave and I looked at each other. He held the car key in his hand. Our packed Subaru was snug in the dry garage.

"Really?"

"Sure," they said. "Stay as long as you want. We won't be back here until the end of next week."

A run to the grocery store later, we pulled our stuff out of the car and reinstalled it in the house. That was a first. So here we are for a few more days while the storm blows through, snug in the generosity of people who quickly transform from strangers into friends.

Willapa National Refuge

Peaceful La Paz

La Paz means "The Peace" for  good reason.

Our first foray into La Paz, an hour drive from our casita, was a bummer. We'd been in Mexico a short time and were whirling from all the change. We'd heard there were lots of good stores in La Paz to buy furniture and sundries--but we'd also heard La Paz cops might pull us gringos over for a mordita (bribe) and that the city had problems with violence. We were a little on edge.

It was tough navigating the unmarked streets. And some of the tiendas were in post-hurricane upheaval. The whole vibe seemed dreary and industrial.

But we also heard a lot of great things about La Paz. People urged us not to miss out on the best parts of town, the parts we had yet to see: the downtown, the malecon (waterfront esplanade), the beaches, the food. Long timers spoke glowingly of La Paz, adding that it was as safe as, if not safer than, American cities.

The biggest pull for Dave was the sea life. Especially the opportunity to swim with whale sharks. Talk about danger! But no, not really. The largest living non-mammalian vertebrates, they can get up to 42 feet and almost 50,000 pounds. But they are gentle giants, filter feeders who eat plankton, not human flesh.



whale shark (credit)

When our neighbors came back one late afternoon glowing with suntans and reports of an amazing day in La Paz swimming with whale sharks, we took that as a sign. The next morning we threw our snorkels in our car and took off.

It was an easy drive. We followed our friends' directions (turn left at the big McDonalds) to avoid the drab, confusing outskirts and headed right to the Malecon. Immediately we were struck by the azure waters of the Gulf of California (aka Sea of Cortez) and charming streets lined with shops, restaurants and small hotels. We found easy parking in front of Los Arcos, a defunct hotel.

There are lots of beautiful sculptures along the Malecon.

Right across the street a guy named Omar stood in front of his small boat. He charged us $600 pesos (about $40) each. It would have cost less with more passengers. The boat might have fit two or three more people. But we were happy to have our own spontaneous, private charter. Especially when we saw tourist boats crammed with 12 or more people, who paid $800 or more pesos each.

el barco de Omar

We stepped from the beach into his boat. In just minutes dolphins bounded by. About ten minutes later, Omar spotted a dark shadow in the water. A whale shark. He stopped, urging us to jump in. Gulp.



Dave caught the whale shark coming right at him.

We dropped into the 70 degree water in front of the beast, who glided by beneath us. How to explain being in the sea with a shark of that size? Electrifying.

Several times we got back in the boat--hauling ourselves up the small ladder--and Omar took us to another spot for more whale shark action. At one point, Dave got in alone and captured the experience on video. When he got back in the boat, he was in his blissful Dr. Doolittle state, happy and deeply moved.

After two hours on the water, we were hungry. We walked through the skate park to a big palapa that was Claro Jr., an open-air restaurant. The tacos were stuffed with super-fresh fish and shrimp, to which we added all kinds of goodies from the huge salsa bar.

 

Next we drove south on the road that snakes through the desert hills past one beautiful beach after another until we reached El Tecolote.

This osprey watched us as we drove by.

 

 

El Tecolote is one of those beaches of your dreams. Calm aquamarine waters. Vast areas of solitude punctuated by by shade palapas and charming feet-in-the-sand restaurants.




El Tecolote

The water, shallow for a long way out, was so inviting. It was one of those magical swimming moments, where your body and the water meld.

Our first impression of La Paz may have been alienating. But now we know better. There are so many treasures in this incredible place, and we can't wait to go back for more.




 

 

Mahalo, Maui

 This is the path we walked up and down every day on Maui...

... while we lived here...

 ...the house of our friend Christine. She built it thirty years ago. Solar powered, the house has a compost toilet, an outdoor shower, and an open air kitchen.

The only noise you hear are birds and the rushing creek with waterfall, seen from the living room window:

Pineapple, avocado, banana and payapa grow abundantly.

There was a house cat named Dora...

a house gecko...

and a house spider ...

...who fortunately lived outside. A crafty arachnid, she spun her web in a spot where bugs flocked to our lit-up window at night.

Here's our generous host, Christine, with her boyfriend Kenny. We hadn't known each other well before coming to Maui. But now after spending two magical weeks together, they feel like our soul siblings. We also fell in love with Kenny's dogs, Lucy and Roxie.

Christine and Kenny are kick-ass strong. At age 68, they swim miles every week. Being a merman and a mermaid ourselves, Dave and I swam almost every day. At Twin Falls, we experienced this:

 

Other days, we swam and snorkeled in the ocean, floating around with fish and huge sea turtles. One day we drove the road to Hana and hiked out to this mind-blowing spot, Red Sand Beach...

...where Dave captured my synchronized swimming maneuver, a ballet leg:

We hiked through bamboo forests...

 ...and around the other-worldly Haleakala Crater...

where we were so high....

...we were above the clouds.

 It just so happened that Dave's college buddy, Craig, and his three kids were on Maui too.

 

We spent a couple of fun days with them that included swimming, snorkeling...

and the best fish tacos ever:

One day, Christine and Kenny took us on the ferry to Lanai, where we swam for more than two hours way way way off shore.

The water looks placid in this picture, but it was wild and wavy and infinitely deep--punctuated by serene, surreal ultra blue landscapes. Confetti of fish, sculptural coral.

At moments I thought, "What the hell am I, a land mammal, doing all the way out here? Will my feet ever touch Mother Earth again?" Salt water seeped into my snorkel. I wished for gills.

The fish swayed with the surges, reminding me to release to the ocean's power. I thought about the woman in Swimming to Antarctica who swims for days in the worlds's coldest waters without a wetsuit. I thought of Diana Nyad's amazing achievements. I watched Dave and our friends plowing through the surf, no land in sight.

I thought about how land and sea are yin and yang, overlapping like life and death, one not possible without the other. For hours afterward the motion of the sea stayed with us, a kind of dizziness not unlike my post-brain surgery vertigo. I thought of it like Mother Earth gently rocking us in a cradle. 

We are, after all, her children.

Massachusetts, Home-style

After the red-eye from L.A., we arrived at 8 a.m. to hot and steamy Boston.  So off to the beach we went with Dave's long-time friends Charlie and Lois, and their two boys Dom and Chris.

The journey from Carlisle to Gloucester was a treat.  It's so green here, and all the small towns are mariner-charming.

Chez Lombardi in Carlisle

And there's nothing like swimming in cool salt water to wash off  travel skin-scum.  (JetBlue's nice touch of wet, hot hand towels went only so far.)

Floating in the benevolent sea, I realized I'd been in the Pacific one day and the Atlantic the next.

Long Beach, Gloucester

This led me to robust appreciation for things that make extended travel like buttah:

* relatively inexpensive jet travel
* cell phones and laptops
* Airbnb, TripAdvisor and other online travel resources
* online banking
* Google docs (which is how my clients and I share writing and feedback)
* PayPal (which is how those who are inclined pay me)
* Nice people everywhere you go (thought I'd just slip that one in when you weren't looking).

After the beach, we stopped at the Gloucester Fisherman's Memorial, which overlooks a boat-filled harbor.  You can feel the poignant beauty of this special place down to your bones.

Charlie with the goods.

Next stop:  J.T. Farnhams in Essex, where the fried clam was created.  One bite and I knew this to be an invention even greater than Velcro.

Yay!

We ended the day back at the Lombardi house, singing happy 11th birthday to Chris and chowing down on cake and ice cream.   Only one day and we're feeling home.

Writing the Ending First?

Walked here today, along Rio del Mar, for a couple of hours. The beach goes on and on and on. There were lots of dogs and walkers and surfers and sun-worshippers enjoying the first sunny-in-the-70s day we've had in forever. (We native Californians are wimps about "cold"--meaning too many days in the 50's.)

Before my walk, I worked on the memoir. Also worked on it for hours yesterday. I wrote the last scene. I've never done that before on a book-length manuscript: writing the ending before getting there. I feel like I'm about two-thirds of the way to that ending. So now it feels like I have a chasm to cross to get there. I like the feeling of knowing I have solid ground to land on.

Do any of you write your endings first?