The Big Island

Today, I swam with dolphins. There are not many days in my life that I anticipate being able to write that sentence, so I figured if there was ever a day to dust off my blog, it is today. I blame law school for the dormancy in my writing. It's hard not to blame law school for all things gone wrong in life. I think it is part of the 1L experience. Develop a healthy resentment for law school while continuing to almost completely buy into it. Oh, there is so much I could write about law school, but this post is about Hawaii, so that is where I'll spend my words.

Last Thursday, my 1L finals ended (no small feat), I sufficiently chillaxed for 24 hours, I then packed up for both Hawaii and a summer in Cincinnati, slept three hours, put on my best "I'm going to the islands" outfit, boarded US Airways flight 570 and 12 hours later met most of my family on the Big Island of Hawaii. I write the Big Island like I knew that was the official name before arriving here. And yes, you can travel 12 hours and still be in the United States. We'll chalk that one up to imperialism.

Whatever part of me was still digesting and coming down from the intensity that is finals fell into the Pacific soon after arriving. Maybe because this was the view from my bedroom.

And this is where we ate dinner...

 And because this was day two...

And this was day three...

There are few things that could be better after a year of reading 2,000 pages you never actually wanted to read than a Hawaii vacation. Let me take a minute right now to be grateful. It is not everyday, month, year, decade that one gets to go to Hawaii. I met a woman on my flight down here that had never been on a plane. She and her husband were celebrating his graduation from business school and their 25th wedding anniversary with a trip to Hawaii. Hawaii is special. It is creme brulee. It is dark chocolate covered strawberries. It is bacon-wrapped dates. It is prosciutto and melon. It is a delicacy to be appreciated. And, oh am I appreciating this.

One surprising feature of the Big Island (pardon me for not doing a ton of research before arriving, I was learning Property) has been the vast fields of volcanic rock. There is no doubt that volcanoes are here. They leave their mark everywhere. The third day in Hawaii we went to Volcanoes National Park and hiked atop a petrified lava lake (pictured above). Hardened lava is not the most beautiful landscape. The beauty in it lies in the cracks and crevices. In the vegetation sprouting up. In the trees that have rooted. If the apocalypse comes, life will continue. I have no doubt.

After four nights on the rainy side of the island which really only meant light showers a couple of times during the day and magnificent thunderstorms at night, we drove around the perimeter to the west side. On our way we stopped in Ka lae or South Point--the southern most point of the United States. My family has thing for going to the end of the world, or the closest we can come to it. This place was one of those places. You know, the ones that Buzzfeed features in their "50 places you must visit before you die" or "25 ways to almost die and love it." Here, take a look.

Yea, that's a ladder coming out of the bluest water you've ever seen. And, yes, you jump 50 feet into that cove. My big brother, rock climber, lover of danger was the first to jump in. Naturally.

But, Katy and I weren't far behind. Well maybe a little far behind. Katy boldly approached the top.

And hemmed and hawed for about ten minutes. Ben patiently waited below. I, then, courageously offered to take her place. Upon looking over the edge, I announced confidently, "Nope, I'm not going to do that." With that, Katy and I surrendered. That is until we saw three guys come and easily jump off the cliff. Seeing that none of them died, Katy calmly walked up to the edge and without announcing her intention threw herself off into the water below. Perfect form. I had no choice. 15 seconds later I joined them. It was the best thing ever.


Our first full day on the Kona side of the island was spent celebrating Katy's birthday on a remote beach that required hiking a mile and a half over a lava field to an oasis of heavenly bliss, Makalaewena beach.

The pictures speak for themselves.

You may have noticed adorable children sprinkled throughout this post. One of the bigger joys of this first week in paradise (I don't use the word paradise lightly--this really is it), has been spending time with my three-month old niece, Justine, and two-year-old nephew, Oliver. Justine really just spends her days being cute and sleeping. I'm convinced she is going to be mad as hell at us when she is thirteen and has no memory of her trip to Hawaii. I can hear it now, "Why did you bring me to Hawaii before I could enjoy it?!" Oliver, who may also not remember this trip in the future, is thoroughly enjoying it nonetheless. His favorite things are throwing rocks, digging in sand, all things wa-wa (water) and kitchen appliances. He also has a strong affinity for tackling me. He has been working on his speech lately. His biggest accomplishment this week--replacing "deech" with "ba-ba-beach."

Now, back to those dolphins. This afternoon, my mom and I drove down to the "Two-step" snorkeling area. So-called because there is a natural volcanic ledge that allows for snorklers to easily take two steps and launch themselves into an underworld nirvana. There are not words that can begin to describe the coral caves and sea-urchin filled crevices, the bright yellow and striped fish, the baby sea turtles. It was the stuff Disney-pixar movies are made of. That would have been enough, but then the dolphins showed up. Or rather, they jumped up. They did 360 spins and flaunted all they had. Show-offs. They were a ways off from the shore, but other swimmers had gone out to meet them, so my mom and I decided to join. Soon, we were literally surrounded. Dolphins swimming below us, jumping above us. It was the kind of experience that makes you squeal in delight, no matter your age. At one point I literally shoved my mom's face in the water because I was afraid she would miss the sight. It was unbelievable.

This is just a taste of what has been a solidly good week. One of the best. The only thing missing--brother Adam and his wife Meredith. Adam couldn't get two weeks off of work (*cough, my dad is his boss, cough*). But they will be joining us in Kauai tomorrow for week two of this Hawaiian adventure. And now, a sunset.

Just another Family Vacation: Italia

I volunteered to drive back to Rome from Benano with my dad and cousins. Jeff, Perrine, and Milo were with us for week one and would be flying back to Paris and my dad would take over driving their rental car. It was the first time I got to touch Milo the entire trip as we had been living in a family quarantine situation. Milo brought some hand, foot, and mouth disease, and mild chicken pox with him on the trip. So, we all had to keep our distance a little to protect baby Oliver. Luckily, we mastered air kissing, winking, goofy faces, and knowing eyes among adults. As for Milo, I fear he might resent us for years to come as the relatives he went on vacation with and wouldn't even give him a hug. Oh the stuff of family vacations is always so rich.

So, after our goodbyes, my dad and I hopped into the Peugot station wagon, and set off in the direction of Gualdo, Le Marche, Italy. I know what you are thinking. It was our favorite joke of the trip as well. Credit to Ben G.

"Where's Gualdo?"

Here it is:

View Larger Map

There were even people wearing white and red stripes in the region who always seemed to be a little bit lost.

Anyway, back to the drive to Gualdo. I went with my dad on one condition: we could do something "cool" on our drive. Equipped with no guidebook or phrase book, the finding of the cool seemed a bit elusive. As we drove through the stunning beauty of the Sibillini Mountatins, our stomaches began to grumble. So, when Posta, Italy appeared, it seemed as good a place as any to stop for a meal. My dad ordered the tagliatelli with sausage. I ordered pasta with porcini mushrooms. We got an Italian beer to split.

After our first bites and satisfied murmurs, we looked up to find an Italian man, who had been enjoying a leisurely lunch with his family on the porch next to us. He placed an empty wine glass in front of my dad, filled it with a generous pour of red wine, and in his best Italian-accented english said, "This is the wine to drink with that pasta." We smiled and cheersed him and went on with our eating. Of course from that point on the meal quickly expanded from a daddy-daughter date to a full family affair. Marcello was the pharmacist from the next town over. He was showing his brother a good time (as the two bottles of wine on their table showed). His wife had better english and helped translate the more depth-ful parts of the conversation about politics and work. The conversation fizzled as Maria got pulled back into talking with her sister-in-law, and my dad and I returned to our one-on-one. However, as soon as our wine glass was empty and we had returned to sipping water, Marcello was standing over us, "I do not like water," He said.

With that, we were back in it. We learned that Marcello is a communist and his brother is a socialist. We learned that while it was 3:30 in the afternoon, and all had been having a great time, at 4:30, Marcello and his wife would go back to work til 8. Marcello was a principled man. He was the head pharmacist for all the small town pharmacies. He did not get extra pay for this responsibility, but he felt it was the right thing to do. They all originated from Puglia, in the heal of Italy, a place they raved about. It was work that brought them to the mountains. There was a 9-year-old girl, Marcello's niece, who occasionally answered questions with her school-learned english, while her parents smiled proudly. It was the kind of conversation that only happens on the porch of a small-town restaurant over a couple of glasses of shared wine. It could not be found in a guidebook.

As we wrapped up the meal and conversation, a bottle of 10-year aged grappa appeared on Marcello's table with two glasses. My dad commented to me, "Wow, he is really bringing out all the stops for his brother." Just as soon as the comment was made, one of the two glasses was placed on our table and filled with grappa. "Grappa, 10-years aged, very good." We clinked glasses and obliged. A bit worried about just how generous Marcello had been with the alcohol, I took a few extra sips to spare my dad any chance of tipsy driving. It was the least I could do.

We made it safely to Gualdo where we met up with the rest of the family for another week of fun. Too many stories to share, each worthy of their own blog post. But the lazy-womans approach will be photos with highlights from the two weeks:

Le Coste de Gradoli, a natural winery, where we walked the vineyard, and tasted many wines, even though Jean Marco was"too busy, and could only let us try one... ok, one more... ok five more." My cousin, a wine enthusiast, planned this outing for our first day in Italy, one that remained a favorite for the entire trip.

Orvietto was the closest big city to Benano. It was a beautiful walled city with a large duomo. We toured the underground etruscan caves. We sat in the formidable church and discussed our own views on religion. We ate gelato, of course.

No family trip is complete without homemade, gourmet meals. This trip included wood-fired pizza, eggplant parmesan, cabbage slaws, pesto potato salad, fresh fig and pear galette, homemade gnocchi, fennel salad from the garden... We did not need to eat out every night to eat like Italians. It is in our blood.

 Evenings were spent at Lake Bolsena, a beautiful natural lake near Benano. Oliver even went for a little swim there.

 Meredith claims that she ate gelato everyday we were in Italy. If double-dosing days can make up for days without. I think we all can make that claim.

 Benano, a small hill top town in Umbria, was our home for week one. It was a town of Italians. There was the guy who always sat on the bench where we parked the cars. There were the nonnas out in abundance always ready to goo and gaa at Oliver. We practiced our friendly Italian greetings, and felt at home in the decadent home equipped with a wine cellar from the etruscan period. My parents' friends, Karen and Paul, co-own the home and were kind enough to rent it out to us. We all want to come back and think you should probably go too!

 The best times were shared with Oliver, our newest addition to the family. He really fits right in.

 Our second day in Gualdo, we went to the Adriatic sea. We found a beautiful, if a little precarious, swimming spot equipped with jumping spots and shade. Epic swimming ensued.

Good friends of mine, Zach and Bill, peace corpser and fulbrighter and international affectionados, joined us from their posts in Moldova for a few days of the trip. Their energy complimented our family well especially for the celebrating of the Fourth of July, done with a full-blown first, hopefully annual, Gingold-Gerhardstein & Co. International American Olympics.

Weeks of work went into this exhibition piece. Events in the olympics included: relay race with such strokes as side stroke, elementary back stroke and doggy paddle; underwater distance launch; synchronized swimming including dolphin mimicry (pronounced Mimi-cry); underwater rock scramble; individual creative jumping; running. Winners of each event were awarded penne pasta medals. Re-runs should be playing on your local PBS station.

 

The most important part of the trip, and the reason we were all in Italy, was the celebration of my parents' 40th year of marriage. The town of Benano blessed them in their Catholic church (see family photo above), we heard stories of their college years and young love. We discussed family values and how to find role models to help guide your life. We chewed on all the good and bad and authentic stuff of family. Thank you mom and dad for this amazing trip and for creating such a strong and beautiful family.  Here's to 40 more.

Cousining England

The man with the vest

Grasped tightly to his baguette,

Nodding down to bite.

In London, I have begun writing haikus. I find that it is an excellent way to boil down a moment to a particular sensation, oddity, feeling. The man with the vest was on the tube escalator. I fully surrendered to the tube escalators. They are just too long to consider trekking up, especially with jet-lag. So, I would settle in behind the man with the baguette and the lady with the high heels, I read the play posters, and give into the journey to the higher ground. This is clearly a luxury of my time off. When I “have to be somewhere,” I would rarely settle into an escalator, no matter how steep the climb.

Also in London, I have found the joy of traveling sans guidebook, with the guidance of a lovely cousin and her lovely boyfriend. It is such a remarkable privilege to arrive in a foreign land to the welcoming embrace of a loved one, who is willing and able to take you on a journey. In my 9 days here I did not see Big Ben or Westminster Abbey. But, I did stroll through St. James and Hyde parks, drink world-renowned coffee at Monmou Coffee while tasting the most divine flavors known to man as I weaved through Borough market. I also saw art at the Tate Modern, including the original Dali painting that donned the walls of my high school boyfriend’s bedroom in the form of a poster cut up into sections on his closet accordion door.

Becca and Ajay preparing our first meal together

In the countryside of England, we walked. A lot. Becca and I both came to understand why people continuously write about pastures and label music “pastoral.” Pastures are simply divine. Our most arduous day we walked 12 miles through pastures of cows and sheep to the sea where we found the Seven Sisters National Park. The coastline boasted white cliffs that dropped straight into the ocean without a hint of hesitation. We were given blue skies and sunshine and sunburns for our walking, and soaked it all up.

Pasture walking on the South Downs Trail

Cousins atop the Seven Sisters

Sunburnt

The Seven Sisters

Becca atop Seven Sisters

We met the characters of the countryside including the man who owned the crystal shop in Littlington. I would write his name, but I fear I would butcher it… just imagine the name of a jester in a fantasy world full of dark lords and dragons. He spoke about the powers of crystals so matter-of-factly, that he might as well have been talking about car mufflers. His round belly, slightly balding head, and nerdy glasses seemed to be all too knowing, leading both my cousin and I to find crystals to help guide our ways. Or there was Roy Savage, the man who owned the tennis courts/campground in Alfriston. He went to Ohio State for a year on a tennis scholarship. There was something in the way he carried himself that made him seem like a star of years past who has all but been forgotten, but at one point was really something.

Alfriston

First British Beer at George's Pub (with tunnels underneath it where Pirates used to smuggle in goods!)

In the city, there was Simon, a friend of Becca’s who is a poet-writer-artist-performer who has many rituals he sticks to and a way of seeing the artistic talent in others. He offered free tickets to a play, so our last night in London found us at the Royal Court Theater where we watched opening night of a play about a man giving birth. It comedically explored very interesting themes about the medicalization of the birthing process, gender roles, and parenting. After the play concluded, Becca and I sealed our week with ale and porters and shared stories.

I really had an amazing time in England. But it was not because I planned the best trip itinerary. I actually never read a single guidebook, I share perhaps with a tinge of shame. I had an amazing time because I allowed myself to bump into the city as I strolled and because Becca and Ajay welcomed me into their home as only family can, creating an adventure full of beauty, delicious tastes, affirming love, and challenging questions. I left London satisfied and ready to sign up for Fare Alerts so I can hop across the pond for another visit!

Burrough market tomatoes

Venison and Wild Boar sandwich

Monmouth Coffee made with love

It did not hurt my impression of London when I was upgraded to business class yesterday morning, allowing me to hang out in the elite British Airways lounge and indulge in croissants and cappuccino. But clearly, the most lasting feeling from the trip is my love for my cousin and how special it was to get to share that time together. I continue to be reminded that the greatest gift one can give another is time and shared experiences. And I think when those ingredients combine, positive residue is left behind…

London streets sparkle

Not just because of the rain

Cousin love sheds jewels.

Cousins in Camden Town