A Compulsive "Road Trip" Travelers Beginning

It was the last day of summer break; 1995 and the day before my sophomore year of high school.

I planned to spend the whole day locked in my bedroom writing horrible poetry, sulking in my pillow and reading smutty books.

Only good news--I HAD MY LEARNERS PERMIT! Good news for me. Bad news for the world.

My father had a conference in Duluth that day. He wanted me to go.

I growled, "Busy." If I didn’t sulk for a good 3 hours it’s like my day wasn’t complete and his stupid conference was not going to get in the way of that.

"We can get Chili Dogs," he coerced with a loopy grin on his face.

"Not hungry," I replied

His face went rigid. I froze. That is not a look I disobey. I've seen squirrels drop dead from that look.

"Whoosh!" That was me, out the door and buckled into the passenger seat. And there I waited with a crabby gaze plastered on my face.

Crack! I woke from my self-deprecating slump to see my father standing outside my window.

"You're driving."

Shocked I slid over to the driver’s seat.

I can't drive to Duluth! Last week I just made it to 55 mph without hyperventilating. The week before I freaked out during a Y turn and ended up in the ditch.

But I just shrugged. Cause I'm cool.

"You need to practice long distance driving," He states buckling his seat belt.

Once I was 4-Wheeling around a field and fell into a hole. Another time while mowing figure 8's into the lawn I lost control and drove into the ditch. Yes, long distance driving is exactly what I need to work on.

And so I did. With a two hour drive in silence. Not even a grunt. It was like a standoff except there was no draw and Clint Eastwood himself wouldn’t have incited a discussion between us.

I remember crossing the bridge to Duluth. AMAZING! Lake Superior— beautiful. Lift bridge— awesome. Boats— a dream of mine. Even if it’s a big, smelly oil rig, I don’t care, I want it…!

My father yanks the wheel suddenly. "Eyes on the road!" he barks. I tend to drive where I look. Hence so many ditches.

I attended the conference. I listened. I nodded politely. I have no idea what it was about.

Afterwards my father dragged me to get food. A Burger King set next to Lake Superior on Canal Street. He sat on a bench to eat while I hopped from rock to rock. Finally I stopped. Sat. Stared.

Gentle waves crashed into my rock. The lake and sky meeting so effortlessly that they melted into one. And for 20 minutes I didn't think. I didn't worry. Obsess. Pick. Scowl. Growl. Feel some sort of anger. Or even rage. I just ate my fries and breathed.

It felt good. I felt good.

I drove us back. Calmly I might add. Dad pretended to fall asleep. I know it was pretend because I was totally looking at the fall leaves on the trees and drove into the ditch. He quickly yanked the wheel again and growled.

We made it back alive. And my father, with all his concern for my long distance driving skills, actually instilled a lifetime desire of road trips and a deep appreciation for the crashing waves of Lake Superior.

So, thanks.

I still drive where I look though. But I’m working on it. Swear.

Hit the Road (Trip) Jack!

Large coffee.
Quick stretch outside.
I'm off.
Blurry-eyed.
It's early.
14 hours to go.

I know this stretch.
Wisconsin to Minnesota.
I live this stretch.
Sip coffee. Eat a banana.

And 494! Smelly bridge.
Morning show on the radio.

Pee Break!
Coffee refill.
Gas up.
Stretch.
People stare.
I don't care.

Am I in Iowa yet?
Was there a Welcome sign?
Why won't you welcome me?!
Oh. There it is.
Zoom.

No cruise control.
No worries.
No air conditioning.
It is 82 degrees.
No worries.
That's what the windows are for...

Windmills!
Des Moines

No map.
No worries.
I have directions.
I have no idea how far away I am.
Where is Nebraska?
Am I close?
No worries.
It smells like toast and jam outside.

Why does it smell like toast and jam?!
Ouch! My eye!
My hair whipped it
Cause my windows are down
It is 86 degrees.

Nebraska!
Almost.
Council Bluffs. So close!
It still smells like toast and jam.

Ugh. I'm so sweaty.
Eat a sandwich.
Peanut Butter and Jelly.
I packed it last night.
THE CHOCOLATE BAR MELTED!
All over my hand.
88 degrees.

97.7 Spanish Radio Station
Coffee Break!
Quick run.
My shirt is covered in sweat.

Oooooooooomaha!
Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiincoln!
Pee break.
Rolling hills.
Still toast and jam!
Oops, it's my shampoo.
I showered.

6 hours in.
Flat.
Cows.
Windmills.
Gas up.
Pee break.
Beef jerky.
Gas up.
Pee break.
Cows. Cows. Fields.
"Wait, wait, Don't Tell Me"
SUNBURN!

Freaking sunburn.
Half my face.
Left arm.
Left thigh.
90 degrees.

I have melded to my seat.
Talking to my car.
Talking to myself.
Talking to the trees.
Yelling at Nebraska.
Am I close?
Close to the border?
Is there a border?
Why didn't I bring a map?
9 hours in.

Phone Call!
Roll up window to hear.
Suffocate.
End call.
Alone again.
With my thoughts.
Blank.

Colorado!
I must be close.
Denver!
What? Over 3 hours?!
But.
Desert tundra.
Empty highway.
Gas up.
Pee break.
82 degrees.

Sunset.
Twinkling lights.
From afar.
Eat a sandwich.
Windows rolled up.

Windows rolled down.
Final Stretch.
Finaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal countdown!
Am I there?
Am I there yet?
How about now?
Now?
Ah! Stop it.

13 hours.
I see it! An ending.
I’m a tad sad.
It’s hard to let go.

I’m here! This is it!
Outta the car.
Run. Run little girl!
Stretch. Breathe.
Look up. Look down.
All around.
Cool.

Okay. I’m ready.
Where now?

Landing Gear

An ending happens
A new start begins

Change…

And a word
Introduced
First time

Freedom!

Washes over my
Young
Grieving soul

I grab it.
A sudden yank
I’m high into air

Overwhelmed
Exhilarated
By this new life
That could be mine

But which life?
Choose one.
I don’t know.
What if
I choose
Wrong?

The wrong space
Wrong place
Wrong house
Wrong mate
Wrong state

So I stay.
Suspended.
Waiting I guess
For the right answer
Finding all that freedom
More stifling
More confusing

Then
19 years
Of being
Stuck
With a
Thumb
Over
My
Head.

I dreamed
I wished
With my child heart
A future
Beaming
Plum full
Possibilities

So ready to get away
No focus on where
Or why
How
What?

Just away.

I hop
Skip
Jump
No roots can find me.
I never plant
Yet I hover
Float
Over
The place
I always
Wanted
To leave

Fed up
With my
Indecision
I make
A choice
A split second
Over
An Amaretto Sour

To Land
To try
My feet come down
Skidding to the ground
And there it is
The future.

In Spanish
Southern Hemisphere
But corresponding
Latitude Lines
New friends
New life
New HOME.

Period.

Then semi-colon
Comma
Run on sentence

And I’m flying back
Where?
No specific place
Swear.

Cause I’ve got freedom Baby!
Eleven years of freedom
My adult life
Stuck in hover mode
Never committing

Lost in a void
Dreamless
Goalless
Dullness
Spilling out
Crying for home

A home base
I believe
Is the answer

I
Search loudly
Make
Decisions boldly

But silently
My eyes twitched
Fingers tapped
Nails chewed
Sleep lost to
Frustation
Which
Quietly set in

But
I'm stubborn.

I'm going to land
Fully
No run on sentence
It is set
It is Real
Now

The car packed
Apartment found
Life planned
Future
Far away
Future
In a state
Future
14 hours away

And I sobbed

My legs came down
My feet skidded
To the ground

And I landed
Not Realizing
It happened
I looked around
Familiar sounds

Angry
ANGRY!
No
Not it!

Cause I landed
Where I began

I heard music
Bright lights
Dancing
Laughter

A feeling
Of warmth
Spreading
Through
My void
My heart
My twitching
Eye

It flooded
My anger
Quickly diluting
Shock-Confusion-Disgust

Painful
Memories
Of a
Childhood
Washed
Clean
Years away
Understanding
A comprehensin
To the pain

As a smile
Fills my face
Because I finally
Found
My place

I'm Back!

Hello All!

It has been a long hiatus. My apologies. But a traveler needs time to travel and to figure out life and how it should be lived per them...not others.

New trips will be planned! A homebase is being established. And I'm finding my way. Slowly. But. Surely.

It's great to be back!

Quick Hiatus

Hello Hello!

I am still here and still writing! My focus has been on finishing my Sundance script which is due on May 1st! But don't you worry or fret my friends, I will be back on board (blogging) in just a few days.

AND New Impromptu Trip! I leave for Grand Marais and Canada on May 3rd! Take off eh! Man, I need to back off the exclamation marks. Blame the coffee.

I'll be back (like the Terminator but with less accent.)

Nerissa

Don't Fence Me In

It is a sweltering day in Northern Minnesota.

I’m sprawled on a lawn chair, my head curled on the arm, resting away the day.

Cheryl, stretched out on the ground, utters one word, “Bar.”

My eyes ping open.

Cheryl saddles up her horses. I grab my wallet. And we hit the dusty, gravel roads.

Being my 2nd time on a horse and the 1st time ending with me being dragged down a rocky trail, I was a bit hesitant.

But I was on PEPPER. Sweet, desperately old Pepper.

And so we began our adventure…

Cheryl’s horse is KICKING AND BUCKING something fierce. I think, “Wow, I’m so lucky to have Pepper. Sweet Pepper…”

20 minutes later I’m bored. So I nudge Pepper. He is quick to trot but then right back to walk.

I’m annoyed. So I nudge harder. NOTHING!

I shake the reins. AND He shakes his mane of hair at me.

Finally I threaten—“If you don’t put a little Pep in your step Pepper you may find yourself quickly made into Pepperoni!”

I don’t even know what that threat means. But he picked up the pace, flicking me with his tail the whole way to the bar.

And that’s where we parked them. Literally, they have a spot to tie up your horses.

Cheryl and I filled the next hour with laughter and shots as the night fell and stars illuminated the black sky.

And as we left the bar and I hopped back on Pepperoni, I felt that illusive emotion—sheer joy.

There were no flashlights. Just the stars to lead us home. Now, I may have been a little sauced as I weaved Pepperoni from ditch to ditch but it was the open sky that truly caused the lack of directional control.

I was too busy looking up to look straight ahead.

And then it floated out of my mouth like a gust of air—

“Ohhhhh….give me land, lots of land over starry skies above… Don’t fence me in.”

And there I am, on a horse named Pepper, swerving from side to side, holding a beer, grinning from ear to ear, crooning Gene Autry to the sky.

“Just turn me loose. Let me straddle my own saddle underneath the Western sky. On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder, until I see the mountains rise.”

What’s a Cayuse?

Anyway, driving home the next day I stopped for gas. I went to pay and realized I didn’t have my wallet. Shocked I looked at the attendant and I said, “I left my wallet on the back of a horse.”

I found some cash, paid my debt, climbed in my car and headed back to city life. A life I appreciated usually—but there, at that moment I was conflicted… maybe my heart was still with Pepper, on a path, to the sky.

Maybe, just maybe I wasn’t such the city girl I vehemently proclaimed to be. Oh boy.

And the most troubling question of all, how in the heck did I know all the words to that song?


**No animals were hurt in this story. Promise.

Jeerers, Meet Me in the Parking Lot

I have a list—A life list—Not a BUCKET LIST—Just a list.

And today it’s a list with a new black line on it BECAUSE I learned to SNOWBOARD!

And being one who loves to share—I’m taking my readers on a quick and painful tutorial!

Time to learn the basics!

1. How to fall—Tuck chin in neck, pull arms close, turn head sideways
2. Always look out for riders, skiers or random people walking
3. No flailing arms; you look stupid and it ruins your balance
4. Knees bent
5. Back straight
6. Don’t stick your butt out

Are you with me?! Good.

So let’s strap that board on to your shaky legs and glide your way to the chair lift with one foot unstrapped acting as your guide—use your heel or use your toe—NOT AT THE SAME TIME!

Now we are safely on the lift—facing front, board over unstrapped foot, gazing at the piercing blue sky—it’ s an amazing high but don’t get too comfy there my friend—don’t forget you have a snowboard strapped to your foot—this ain’t ski country!

Because when the time comes to scoot off that lift and your overworked brain forgets what equipment is attached to your body—

“Ah! NO!” The leg flails, your face screams desperation and THUD goes your body—my body--underneath the chair lift and it’s 1991 ALL OVER AGAIN!

My poor instructor was either shocked or befuddled as I laid there curled up fearing decapitation. I would be embarrassed but I passed that in 2nd grade when I accidentally peed my pants at Skate City.

And I have never claimed to be graceful!

Whew. Okay we have crawled away from the chair lift and now officially face our first hill. At this moment the instructor mentions, in passing, the phrase “sprained wrists.” IT’S OKAY! We are okay. Because that will not be us. YOU HEAR ME?!

Strap in the other boot and let’s ride down this death defying Bunny Hill! No Fear! Okay, a little fear.

Now, do not be afraid to hang on to your instructor or hell, fall on him. He’s durable.

And that’s what I did.

“I can do this!” I would yell and then fall; on butt, on face, on side, on instructor and repeat.

I learned toe. Then I learned heel. Then I forgot how to do both and just squealed! And my board went left when I wanted right and I leaned front –FACE PLANT! Arm hurting, chest smacking (ribs A-Okay!), knee slamming, pride—hmm no prides fine, CRASH-SMASH into slushy, soft snow.

Breathe. All together—Breathe.

Let’s get up. Shake it off.

Resituate GOOD FORM—point one arm the direction you want the board to go. Put the other arm in front of your mouth like a microphone.

DO NOT, I reiterate, DO NOT get so involved with the “microphone” aspect that you pretend you are Whitney Houston singing I WANT TO DANCE WITH SOMEBODY until a tree just pops out of nowhere and you tumble down again.

Little kids will pass you. People will gawk. And jeerers can meet me in the parking lot.

By now it’s been 2 hours and your focus is shot—did someone say shots? And that’s exactly where I headed too.

And that is the end of our SNOWBOARD TUTORIAL.

*Snowboard photographs have been restricted by me.

Oh Mary Jane! You Dirty, Dirty Girl! (PG-13)

My legs hurt. One hour into downhill skiing in Colorado they hurt. After doing 4 runs they burned—and now three hours later I am facing a conundrum.

See, it floated away about 10 minutes ago. It being my coffee buzz that keeps me running like the Energizer Bunny.

My coffee that I am imagining with bright eyes is down a very, very steep mountain--apparently infamous mountain called MARY JANE (named after the local whore from the 1930's.)

As I stand at the precipice of this rocky mountain, my face drains in sudden fear. "Why don't I have medical insurance? Or even life insurance? My leg--my poor leg is going to snap in two--my brain splattered red on the pure white snow."

I ask myself, "Now Nerissa, do you want coffee? How bad do you want coffee? HOW BAD?!"

I reply, “I WANT IT! I said I WANT IT! Grrr!”

Then shake a leg Lady!

I slowly inch forward as little kids zip past me laughing. My pride puffs my chest to a solid B cup, my gaze steels as I quickly launch forward ready to beat those twerps with my pointy, pointy poles--wait--DOWN THE MOUNTAIN!

Noooooooo MARY JANE!!!

"What now? What now?! Focus. Glide right. Left. Right. Left. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Don't snow plow you nerd!”

What is this? Moguls? I CAN'T DO MOGULS!

I hit a mogul and think "Death." I hit the next mogul and think "Coffee." And repeat with voice influx between high and low--"Death. Coffee. Death. Coffee."

And stop. Breathe. I look down. I unclench my hands from the poles and lift my goggles to survey my options.

Can I walk down? Slide down on my butt? Roll down? Be carried? Oh look, there's an emergency phone. Would they come and get me?

I am pathetic at this moment. A quiet, pathetic, sweaty girl--without her liquid courage...

I can do this without coffee. I have balls without the caffeine. I don't need to butt slide down this mountain.

I. am. gonna. ski. down. like. a. normal. person.

And all I can say to those burning legs of mine is STOP YOUR WHINING!

I swoosh my way down—performing a strategic dance combination of flow and thought.

Oh, sweet, sweet MARY JANE and her smooth mountain soul.

I made it. Drenched in sweat and slightly tweaking out but in one piece nonetheless AND slightly craving a cigarette.

I sipped my coffee and water...letting my shaky legs and mind unwind.

Then I hopped back on the chair lift and DID IT ALL OVER AGAIN!

Of course 2 hours later I couldn't walk.

But 2 hours after that I could feel my butt again.

SO--they might've been right when they invented the catch phrase, NO PAIN-NO GAIN. (No Pain—No Jane as they say in Winter Park.)

Because it was totally worth it.

Cross the Atlantic by Schooner? Crazy? Or AWESOME!

At the ripe age of 20 I proclaimed I AM GOING TO SAIL THE WORLD!

I would buy a boat. Live off the ocean. Dodge sharks. Eat fish. Toss my cookies over the ledge. Salt my pork. (Isn't that what the pilgrims did?)

As a child I had a fixation on Kurt Russell and the movie "Captain Ron." I am a sucker for eye patches.

Now being a server means I collect CHANGE. I threw it in a bucket and every couple months dropped it IN the bank. Where I rolled the money in to EE and II Bonds and slowly collected a sail boat nestegg.

8 years later I produced my first play with that nestegg...so long eye patch...so long salted pork...so long ocean of dreams.

Now! NOW! With the spark of sailing around the world still alive in this little heart of mine, I did a little GOOGLE research and FOUND:

SIRIUS SAILING at www.siriussailing.com!

TRANSATLANTIC SAILING!!! Antigua to Athens in 41 days and a chance to live my dream.

AND if I have my sea legs, I CAN SAIL BACK!

Mind you it would cost more than if I bought a crappy little sail boat and took lessons on Lake Minnetonka and became certified but...

IT'S THE ATLANTIC! And a big boat. I like big boats.

It's adventure like none other. Right up this traveler's alley. And I think it deserves a spot on the List of LIFE'S POSSIBILITIES!

Bee Gees, I Hear You!

It was a lazy Sunday in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Kaley and I laced up our tennis shoes ready for a relaxing run through the city.

It was hot. The air was thick, my shirt was drenched and my hair was fighting for freedom from a tightly bound rubber band.

We ran along cobbled streets, dominating renaissance buildings, trotting puppies and people strolling arm and arm.

Our destination together was a large park—from there we part ways—both being the independent type we blaze our own running path.

I take off towards the Botanicals and quickly become lost in my thoughts. Suddenly I hear a familiar “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” I jolt to the present, my pace quickens to a dead run.

1970’s…
Bee Gees?
Staying Alive!
ENGLISH!!!!!

I DART and SWERVE in and out of people desperately seeking Bee Gees! And English! I have missed understanding—comprehending and COMMUNICATING! I just want to belong again!

Around the corner, through a crowd and side stepping dog poop, I saw it! A STAGE! In the middle of a street? With a man in tight spandex, snapping his fingers up, down, up, down, pointing front, back and KICK!

Women huffing and puffing danced in front of the stage trying desperately to follow his every direction.

The answer is Yes! There is Jazzercise in Argentina!

I jump right in! Hopping, spinning, clapping, kick right, left and damn it, I am good! So good that my spandex teacher says something in Spanish over his Madonna microphone and I’m pretty sure it would translate to “You go girl!”

So I’m swinging my hands, feeling my groove. I leap right and JAZZ HAND. I leap left and thwack! I ACCIDENTALLY slap the lady next to me in face! Damn that out of control jazz hand.

Less then 30 seconds later she sat down on the nearby curb.

I think she was just tired.

Others have differing opinions but they weren’t there, were they?!

I shook my body for another 20 minutes, waved thank you to my spandex laden teacher and ran off to find my way home.

I have a smile plastered on my face because THEY HAVE JAZZERCISE IN ARGENTINA and it doesn't get much stranger or awesome then that.

Irrational Fears Build Character

Being slightly neurotic can mean being afraid of things that don't always make sense, like worms.

Yes, worms.

They're slimy and icky. And when you cut one in half it creates 2 new worms.

And it's raining! Which I love! Until I run outside in sandals and (shivers) their fleshy, eyeless bodies are squirming around. Puke.

But I love fishing! It's cathartic... and the closest I ever get to sports.

So I work around the worm thing. Mostly by being pitiful and having people bait my hook.

In Idaho, I fished with our family friend Bill on Horse Lake...on top of an inactive volcano! It's filled yearly or more with trout--over 2000 a time!

I'm sitting on one end of the dock and Bill on the other.

It's peaceful and I'm soaking in gliding ducks and breezy trees when I GET A BITE! I reel it in--NOTHING! Not even the damn worm.

Crap.

I run to Bill with begging eyes. And yes, he thinks it's weird about the worms but he baits my hook anyway. THANKS BILL!

I walk to my end of the dock--keeping the slimy little sucker far away. I plop down. My mind wanders to guns and target practice when a little tug-tug happens!

I reel that line like a PRO! And NADA--NOTHING! Not even the damn worm.

Poor Bill.

He worms me again. I dodge the dangling worm back to my end. I plop down, drop the line and before my butt finds a comfy spot another tug-tug happens! You have got to be kidding me?! I yank up the damn line AND THERE'S A FREAKING FISH ON THERE!

I squeal and jump! Reeling and swinging the fish on to the dock--oh cause I don't like touching fish either (yeah, I need help).

Bill's trying to get the trout off my line but I'm so excited and freaked that I swing the line at Bill practically fish slapping him. The stupid trout falls off the line--INTO THE WATER.

Bill worms me up again, don't ask me why, and goes back to his end of the dock.

And I sit down. Drop the line. Sink into brain hibernation. A BITE! A BIG BITE! A MONSTER--I am reeling in a monster and I can do this! Don't be A WEINER NERISSA, just REEL IT IN!

Bill runs over again ready to catch it as I'm swinging the trout like a piñata but "EEK!" the fish is too close to me. I jump back, the line jostles and "plop" goes the trout, back into the lake.

He didn't even bother to swim away. He just smiled up at me with his fishy face, mocking me!

I looked at Bill. He had no words. He turned and left me there. Deservedly so.

I quickly attached plastic bait to my line and sat on the edge of the dock quietly for the rest of the day like a good girl.

And what did I learn from all of this?

That I owe Bill a beer...or 12.

A Tiger Tried to Eat My Face

I love to ski...now. And am totally psyched for my upcoming ski trip to Winter Park! But the beginning--learning to ski, what a troubling and embarrassing black mark across my brain damaged noggin...

1991 TROLLHAUGEN (SCHOOL TRIP)
I was 11 and awkward with no sports like skills but I was excited to zoom down those hills. NO SWEAT.

A ½ hour lesson later I was scooting to the nearest chair lift completely ill prepared.

And chair lifts—they can be unnerving and confusing if it’s your first time!

I watched people shuffle forward as the chair gracefully swooped them up—easy peasy right?!

I shuffled forward—right left, right left—you can do this—don’t embarrass yourself—wait-stop—don’t do that—don’t cross like that—no—STOOOOOOP!—and THUD on the soft ground. I landed on my side, my skis completely entangled. I rolled on my back and looked up to see the chair directly over my head.

Everybody from my school saw including the boy I had a crush on. My 11-year old heart shattered from embarrassment. But I got on the lift—it took 1 attendant and 2 helpful skiers but it happened.

Shake it off! And I did, by racing down hills without knowing how to brake and then ICE CHUNK, 180 flip and I slid down the hill—ON MY FACE.

I carved some deep and bloody scratches into this mug. It looked like a tiger tried to eat me.

But did I give up?!

1993 TROLLHAUGEN (SCHOOL TRIP)
I am a pro by now—at falling—not stopping.

WHO NEEDS TO STOP? But as I zip, zip, zip down this hill I suddenly realize why. A little boy is scooting slowly across the hill and I am flying right at him!

I try to stop but I am going way too fast. I DODGE and flip, flip, flip and SPLAT!

Bright splotches swirl my head and someone keeps asking—“Are you okay? Are you okay?” I wonder who the hell is she talking too and who’s crying?! Oh, IT’S ME! And then I’m on a stretcher.

Enough! I was done. SKIING SUCKS. Or I SUCK. Either way, I’m not doing it anymore.

But years pass, brains heal and my stubborness sets in--I want to ski again and do it right.

My 2 friends decided to join me on my plight bringing their own traumatic skiing scars with them.

Cheryl, on her 1st ski trip, broke her foot. She didn’t tell anyone and skied the rest of the trip—in complete pain. Don’t ask me why. She never skied again.

Julie, also her 1st ski trip, was on a chair lift with her friend. The friend bent down to fix her ski, fell off and landed—right into the hospital. Julie never skied again.

Until now.

2006 CHRISTMAS MOUNTAIN (GIRLS WEEKEND)
It started out well—a few bumps and thumps—a couple of beers—a few more bumps and thumps—a couple shots…

By nightfall I was slightly sauced and facing the moguls. OH YES I AM A MORON! Cruising 1 mph I hit the peak and let my poles fly up as I let out a “Wee!”

Behind me I heard “AW SHIIIIIT!” and turned to see Julie flying in the night sky like ET. And then gravity set in and her body plummeted to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Julie gave up skiing.

Not me. It took 13 years but I finally learned how to freaking stop.

2009 PORTILLO, CHILE
So I am in Chile—surrounded by the Andes and this is WAY beyond my skiing ability.

It showed on the very first run when I followed my friend, Drew, down a steep, crusty snowed slope, quickly realizing that I AM GOING TO DIE. So I stop! And now I am stranded. The only way is down but all I could see was PAIN and STRETCHER.

With blinding fear I pushed on and you know what, I flipped and smacked and slammed down next to the chair lift with everyone watching…right back to 1991.

It took another 20 minutes to get down the hill because I WALKED! I am not proud of this. But redemption comes from honesty. I hope.

I wasn’t to be done in. I ate 2 sandwiches, 3 trail mix bars, ½ bag of chips, a pack of cookies, 3 bags of fruit snacks, drank a 2 liter of Coke and took a 40 minute power nap. Either I was starved or a stress eater.

But I woke up ready.

I took those ski lifts all over the Andes and Slalomed my way down like a make-shift pro. I was still scared at times but it came down to one thing: SINK OR SWIM or SKI OR NOT. And I skied. I didn’t fall again.

And the view from the slopes and the lifts was absolutely startling! It made all that was embarrassing and painful melt away into just another freakish incident in a long line of learning do’s and don’ts.

TROLLHAUGEN 2010
Back to the beginning right?!

But this time I went off a half pipe and caught 2 INCHES OF AIR! And the Black Diamonds are just fun and the chair lifts are awkward for everyone, even the seasoned.

But most of all, EVERYBODY FALLS! And, minus dying or truly impairing yourself, falling is just a fact of life. Get up. Figure out who’s crying. Eat a sandwich or 3 and try, try again. Because the view and the experience was worth a billion times more to this girl then the painful memory of skidding down a slope on my face.

Compulsive Thought

Tickets to ICELAND ARE ONLY 750 DOLLARS!!!

30 Years and Counting!

On the eve of my 30th birthday I am happy to report that it is A BEAUTIFUL DAY! The snow is melted, the grass is brown and my cough has eased up on my wretched lungs and throat.

I am enjoying my life and the choices I have made as of late. But I admit that closing in on 30 is slightly unnerving.

My life is in no way normal. Besides the obvious of no marriage, children, house or mortgage, PTA or preschool, or 9 to 5 employment, I tend to spend my life in transit. Whether driving an hour to work, hour back, moving to foreign countries and then back, flying here or there, heck everywhere, I sometimes find myself out of balance.

That is the best way to describe me as of now, out of whack. It will pass and is great fuel for writing which, besides travel and coffee, is my greatest passion.

But it is hard to not follow the path most traveled. I could’ve gotten married, popped out children, found a quiet job, bought a house and became STATIONARY but deep down I always knew it wasn’t the right path for me.

Maybe it’s the compulsive in me—or the traveler but I am nothing more or less than a free spirit ebbing and flowing with the current of life. I feel most alive and free when I just let it all be.

And I write this last part for my grandmother who worries about my future—if a man comes along someday who moves with my current and well, doesn’t annoy me too much and accepts my quirks as much as I accept his, I MAY, just may let him share my coffee. We will just have to see.

With that I say a big THANK YOU--THANK YOU for reading my blog the COMPULSIVE TRAVELER and most of all, being with me on the momentous 30th birthday!

Muscle Atrophy is Just Part of the Fun!

I’ve been planning an all US, drive until the car breaks, lost leg muscles to atrophy ROAD TRIP.

This means I’ve been staring at maps with blurry eyes, adding and subtracting road buddies, figuring gas mileage, planning food preparation, tent operation, state park location and alien arrival festivals, all the while creating an overwhelming sensation to gnaw my own arm off!

GET A GRIP! I just physically shook myself. Why am I so concerned with details?

My first real out of state road trip took no planning at all. That was the beauty of it.

JANUARY 1998.

For about 2 months I was mooning over this FARGO (the movie) snow globe at the local film store. It displayed the “foot in the wood chipper” scene. Alas I waited too long and some other morbid soul bought it.

I had a car and 2 days free. So I thought, why not drive to Fargo, North Dakota and buy one.

My friend Lee took post as navigator and we quickly devised a plan. Drive to Fargo, buy snow globe and drive back. It sounded relatively simple.

So with nothing more than a couple blankets, a map of Minnesota and a few hundred dollars to our names we hit the road—jack.

We estimated that the drive to Fargo would take 14 hours.

7 hours later we arrived. We scoured gas stations, trinket shops, etc but NO SNOW GLOBE! And when I asked people about it they actually seemed offended. To my surprise, the city of Fargo was not proud of the movie FARGO and therefore had no “foot in wood chipper” snow globes to sell me.

So we went to Denny’s because that’s what you do when your bubble of hope bursts.

With all the extra time on hand, we did some road trip “restructuring.” Do we go home? Continue? Where? West—South?!

And the SOUTH WINS because it’s January and it sounds warm.

Al, our attractive server, located North and South Dakota maps, gave us the SENIOR discount on our food and wished us good luck! What a guy.

Oh South Dakota how I love thee! 75 miles per hour! Casinos attached to gas stations?! And the air was different—bold and clear—like it was preparing for a blizzard. Crap.

I am an AWFUL winter driver. I tend to slam on the brakes and do 360’s until I land with a thud in any nearby snow bank. Then walk to the nearby farmer and ask him to pull me out with his tractor.

So there I was, driving 35 mph through South Dakota in a blizzard—I am hyperventilating with every slip and slide as the snow continues to tumble down. I CAN’T HANDLE IT!

“You drive,” I tell Lee as I maneuver the car to the side of the EMPTY, repeat, EMPTY road.

No cell phones. No cars. No nice farmer with trusty tractor. We were in the unfreaking unknown. And I feared greatly I was going to experience FARGO (the movie) first hand. Stupid snow globe.

But Lee powered through like a champ while I threw a blanket over my head and whimpered like a puppy that needs to be let outside.

We pulled off the freeway to SAFETY! And pie. And we sat in a quiet, odd little diner right out of Twin Peaks and watched the snow fall... and just let it all be.

Eventually the snow dissipated and new maps appeared—NEBRASKA come on down! And I, O, IOWA!

Because, well, why not? I had geography in school—why not see what it is that I studied?

There we were—2:00 a.m. in Sioux City, Nebraska. I took a picture of Lee.

There we were, 2:10 a.m. in Sioux City, Iowa. She took a picture of me. I still have it!

Contrary to what we had idealistically believed it wasn’t warm though and we were tired and low on funds. It was time to go home.

And roughly 10 hours later that’s exactly where we ended up; in my driveway giddy from our conquest. We drove to 6 states in 28 hours. Crazy? Maybe. But we really experienced the freedom and adventure of the open road.

With that, I throw my hands in the air over this current inflated road trip. Ripping up my careful notes of mileage and tossing them in air with sweet freedom and blood from paper cuts.

I leave the planning to fate and my strange obsession with snow globes…and cheese. Because a tour of cheese houses could be just what this girl needs.

What Would Ethan Hunt Do? (Cue: Mission Impossible Music)

New Years Eve 2009; Con Con, Chile.

I’m lounging on a giant rock while gazing at the Pacific Ocean.

The sun is bright. The air, oh the air, is salty and fresh, misting my dirty face.

But my brain is elsewhere…coasting down a slippery slope of future plans and big, scary “WHAT IFS.” It glides past the present moment of confused reflection and right off the crazy cliff of I MOVED TO CHILE?!

Just as I am breaking into the show tune “My life is in the crapper!” an angry grunt from a determined man, hanging one handed on a cliff 20 feet above me, brings my focus back to the task at hand.

I am going to rock climb today. It will be hard. But I am Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible. I am not a weenie.

I strapped on the harness, chalked my balmy hands and gulped.

I took my first step on to the cliff, using my nonexistant upper body strength to hold myself in place. From there I began my slow ascent. Foot by foot, ledge by ledge, finger cramp by finger cramp, I made it 10 feet up.

And there it happened, I was stuck! I could see my next finger hold but no matter how I stretched upwards I couldn't reach it. And the super helpful spectators kept yelling, “Derecho! Derecho! (Right! Right!)”

I screamed back, “How? Where? Speak to me in English!”

I was flustered. What would Ethan Hunt do? And like lightening it struck…HE WOULD JUMP!

So I crouched down and leaped. AND I TOUCHED IT! For about a half second.

And then it was gone and my body slammed hard into the harness. But that’s okay—that’s what the equipment is for; protection from falling.

But something happened—something went wrong—I went wrong—suddenly I’m swinging like Tarzan in the sky. Without warning I felt a crack against my skull and then pain in my ribs!

It gets a little fuzzy after that…

I remember blood on my hands. I remember crying and silently berating myself for being a baby. I was so confused--what just happened?

WHAT JUST HAPPENED?! The rope was caught in a crevasse on the cliff. No one realized until it was too late. When I fell the rope yanked out of the crevasse causing excess slack on the line. This allowed me and my head to pile drive into a jagged rock.

And yes, I had a beautiful, bloody goose egg on my head and a bruised rib…again.

I carefully sat down, trying to make sense of what happened, but my head pounded. I gazed at the waves but they looked fluorescent and made me nauseous. So I closed my eyes and concentrated on my name and age; Nerissa—age, 22.

And all I could think was…please don’t have a concussion…please don’t be bleeding out the brain…please oh please be okay.

And all those scary “WHAT IFS” that had flooded my brain less than 20 minutes ago became irrelevant. Because the future is only what you make of the present. And what happens in the present may deter the future from ever happening…like crashing into jagged cliffs, 8.8 earthquakes or hitchhiking through the South of Chile…oops, story for another time.

And the slippery slope I call “future plans” is only scary now when I think I may not be here to live it. And that is just not an option. (How very Ethan Hunt of me.)

8.8 Aftermath in Chile

It has been over 2 weeks now since the 8.8 earthquake hit Chile and the natural disasters continue with more earthquakes, aftershocks and tsunamis creating chaos among its citizens.

When watching the immediate aftermath of the 8.8 I saw a country I did not recognize...LOOTING AND RIOTS! Never! This was and I hope will be again, a peaceful country. And the idea that people may think Chileans are barbaric because of the video news feeds from the last 2 weeks breaks my heart.

Chile, though still considered 3rd World or under developed, is by no means backwards. The cities have paved roads, stoplights, McDonalds and Starbucks, mobile phone service, internet access, a successful transportation system, condos and universities.

This is a country that is proud of its history; its plight for democracy and freedom, and its strength in maintaining it.

I am proud of Chile. I am proud to have been a resident. And I believe that they will rebound with grace...once the ground stops freaking shaking underneath them.

The Song of the Feral Dogs

A howl in the night, followed by another and another until the only sound heard is the song of the feral dogs that roam the cobbled streets of Valparaiso, Chile.

They are beggars, sun bathers, friendly pals, snarly biters, flea mongers, people watchers, and trash diggers. But most of all, they are homeless, wandering bodies who fill their days chasing cars or bikes or well, ME! They really love to torture runners, especially the skittish.

Everyday walking down the HOP (Hill of Pain) I would see the same puppies; a little Weiner mix click-click-clicking his long nails behind me like an annoying stalker, a blue haired mutt snoring under a junked car and a crazy eyed poodle staring me down like a piece of meat.

Many were once house pets or their parents were, but poverty forced these animals into the streets.

Feral dogs are not just rampant in Valparaiso but all of Chile. While traveling the South of Chile we met the sweetest and proudest German Sheppard ever! He trotted in front of us, peeing on everything he could find to mark his territory before we passed it. It was literally a pissing parade.

I was surprised he didn't try to pee on us, not that we would've probably noticed. It had been awhile with the shower and laundry by then.

A couple of days later, still in the South, we were at a bus stop. I saw a dog lying there, still as the night. I looked for breathing--I had learned to look for breathing--I NEEDED TO LOOK FOR BREATHING...but there was none.

I peered at his long, puppy face and gasped, stepping back suddenly. He wasn't my first "deceased friend" but it was my first ugly ending...there was no needle or sleepy time or even a quick and painless crack; he just slowly starved to death.

My travel companions chose not to look for breathing...it was easier just to believe that the puppies we encountered were just "sleeping." I don't know why I had to look but I did every time.

Later when we returned to Valparaiso I would lie in my bed at night and listen to howls of the lost dogs. One puppy would howl the same melodic tune every night. I wondered who he was singing too… maybe me.

By the end of my time in Chile I had seen many "deceased friends" on the streets, sidewalks, ditches and shady areas. I was proud that I still gasped every time I discovered there was no breathing; that I hadn't accepted their death as just another day in the life of Chile.

And neither have Chileans accepted this fact either. So many times I would see puppies on their last leg, lying there outside a market, with doggy kibble or water dishes laid next to them.

And now, as I sit in a quiet room late at night, I still feel their song... and I wonder if that sad, melodic tune is still howled strong in the night or if it is another that has slowly faded away.

Toilet Paper 101

#2. I HATE DIRTY HANDS/TOILET PAPER AND SOAP 101

You are at a bar or discotheque in Chile. You have a couple of cocktails, maybe some water. Uh oh--your bladder's full. For me, that's an every 2 hour occurrence.

You excuse yourself from the group or like me, just point towards the Loo (bathroom). As you make your way through the crowd, a little pee escapes from your overworked bladder. You are desperate and suddenly finding yourself facing an unexpected problem--No, not a long line but a demand of payment for usage.

That's right; you must pay to use the bathroom. This isn't an absolute but very common in bars, public restrooms, malls and markets. And as an added icing bonus, there is no toilet paper in the stalls. Sometimes there is a lady standing outside the bano holding neatly folded sheets of toilet paper which comes with the price of admission.

So, you are standing at the BANO searching your pockets for 200-300 peso (40-60 cents) to pay the piper with your bladder wishing for a diaper when yes--the change is found--paid and you rush in--plop down--excuse me--crouch down and then it's like SWEET RELIEF!!!

That is until you realize that there is no toilet paper in the stall or any stall--no one to "spare a square" and you were so frantic you rushed past the toilet paper lady! Your stomach sinks as a knot forms because you just peed out a lake without any dry land to stand on.

And this... is an awful moment of truth with one’s self--meant to be kept with one’s self. But lets just say I got over the hand issue.

But I quickly learned to carry toilet paper with me or squirrel away restaurant napkins in my pockets because YOU NEVER KNOW!

Soap dispensers were sparse and never did you see paper towels--THAT IS A LUXURY! I sometimes carried hand sanitizer but grew tired of the bulk in my pockets.

What I thought was a given or necessity in life--toilet paper in stalls, free restroom usage, soap and paper towels, is well, not a given everywhere else. Those "necessities" are expensive upkeep, sometimes inaccessible and maybe not as necessary as I believed.

And I believed, pre-Chile, that washing my hands or avoiding touching dirty things or possibly bacteria covered objects or well lets be honest, children, was a necessity to staying healthy.

But I didn't get some horrible disease or lose use of my faculties while living in Chile. I wasn't poisoned or constantly fighting colds or the flu. In fact, my body felt stronger and healthier from the inside out. Which I found odd.

And I'm just wondering if being 100% sanitary clean is healthy or if healthy comes from a resilient immune system that knows how to deal with a little dirt?

Either way, I'm lucky. I'm lucky because I live in the States with easy access to the tp and I'm lucky because I went somewhere and learned how little necessities I really need.

Where is My Coffee, Chile?

Every morning I wake up with one thought rolling around this empty noggin... CAFE! COFFEE! Except it sounds more like cooooooffffffeeeeee (groan...)

Now, imagine my surprise, fear and raging anger upon realizing that there is NO COFFEE IN CHILE! Not CAFE REAL! They have Espresso, Macchiato, Latte, Cappuccino, Americano and (dum dum dum) INSTANT... No coffee.

I forced myself to use INSTANT COFFEE my 1st trip to Chile but by the 2nd I had really taken to it. If you dump a 1/3 of the instant container into a cup of hot water it not only tastes better but I actually get the amount of caffeine my body craves to start the day...3 cups later.

I quickly learned to say "Quiero cafe mas fuerte por favor!" when ordering instant coffee at restaurants. I want very strong coffee please! And then I would flex my arm muscles to signal strength--DON'T LAUGH! These tiny pipes are fighting machines, baby!!

A Starbucks appeared in Vina del Mar in late September 2009 and my smarty, smarty friend Kaley figured out that CAFE DEL DIA means Coffee of the Day--REAL COFFEE!!!!

So, the real coffee is out there people and the Starbucks of Chile has it.

Just in case you were worried.

Daydreams

Today was a day of compulsive travel dreaming!

I love to go on kayak.com and search for plane tickets ANYWHERE and EVERYWHERE!

TODAY'S SEARCH:
Fort Worth, Texas
Montevideo, Uruguay (a very beautiful but expensive country)
Budapest, Hungary
Seattle, WA
Denver, CO
and of course LAS VEGAS!
(All those twinkle lights--my brain would tweak!)

Sometimes I get so excited to travel that I forget to tell the people I'm visiting that I'm even coming. Twice now I have forgotten to tell the same friend that I'm coming to visit until after I've bought the tickets. And... I did again today!

Luckily I remembered this compulsive habit and called my friend before clicking BUY NOW. I was asked to wait. WAIT?! Wait to buy the ticket for another week. ANOTHER WEEK?!

Sigh. I should've just bought it and showed up on his doorstep.

It's in the air though, a new trip is in the air--one UNPLANNED and UNEXPLORED!

And with that my eyes light up imagining the world and the possibilities... overwhelming, yes, but it's also when I feel the most alive!

I want to see it all.

Except... hmm, except...where?

Is there anywhere?

A Magical Place Called COCHAMO... (not to be confused with Kokomo)

Imagine a quiet town, no bigger then 70 people, spawled on a small hill...

A peaceful lake greets you at the bottom. And a magnificent and active Volcan meets you in the sky. And all around you are the Coastal Mountains of Chile.

Cochamo was supposed to be a 2 hour stopover; check it out and hop the next bus away. But there's tranquility to Cochamo that I long for...

We quickly found a charming hostel on the waterfront. A beautiful, light gray, rock church with a grassy knoll was neaby. Lambs were feasting on green, green grass as the wind gently brushed by.

As we strolled around town on gravel and paved roads, we met the inhabitants of Cochamo. Smiling and walking, everyone was out for the late afternoon sun. It took less then an hour for the whole town to know we were there. I think it was the blonde hair that gave us away.

The black beach, covered with white clam shells, led you to the water's edge. And as you stood there, facing that magestic Volcan, you felt it's pull. I breathed deep and long...and I felt the earth.

So lost in thought I failed to hear this high pitched screaming of a little Chilean boy, "Buenos Dias! Buenos Dias! Buenos Dias!" HE WOULDN'T STOP SCREAMING IT! I finally whipped around and screamed, "BUENOS DIAS!!!" He hid behind a tree.

As we walked away, passing beached boats, free running hens and roosters, baby kittens and children playing tag (same in any country), I finally got it. I got why people live in a small town.

I've been a big town, big city girl for the last 10 years... I like the noise. But there, at that moment, I longed for the community of a small town.

And this town also had a KUCHEN lady! She didn't have any made because she was fixing her toaster and her hands were dirty, "Pero Manana!" (But tomorrow!).

We bought wine, cheese and bread...popping open the vino on the open deck of the hostel as the sun set and the starry night appeared.

Quiet waves lapped the beach reminding me how peaceful the world can be.

Sadly, the next day we were up by the crack of dawn and on the next bus--circumstances in traveling had forced us onward... but a piece of me will always be there--ebbing and flowing with the waves of Cochamo.

And for one day Cochamo had 70 people and 3 Gringos.

Down with HOP a.k.a. Hill of Pain, Chile

Valparaiso is a ciudad built on massive cerros (hills).

I lived on one... Cerro Yunguy, and my butt and calves have yet to forgive me.

A day must be planned over the HOP. Leaving between 2 pm and 5 pm is death from drowning--in your own sweat that is.

The people of Chile have planned it well though. They understand the environment in which they live in and therefore plan their lives around it.

Lunch is taken around 2 pm and it's a grande meal! Soup/salad, bread/appetizer, entree and then dessert. They eat while there is heat and once that disapates they go back to work finishing between 8 and 9 pm.

I fought against this ingrained design at first by eating lunch at noon and attempting to descend and climb that massive HOP in the afternoon. I soon found myself exhausted and sweaty, without a shower and just plain irritated by 4 pm.

Mind you, there are Collectivo's, shared taxis, but I was living on a very strict budget. If you can't hoof it, you can't do it.

I had to follow the rules of the environment or stay in bed. Some days it was a tough, tough choice my friend!

But on returning I realized I based my day around many things--work, friends, bathroom schedules, classes, writing, and well, sunlight.

What do you base your life around?

Squelching Neurotic Ticks in Valparaiso, Chile

PART #1. MUST SHOWER!
Before work. After work. After work out. Before going out. It dictated my life.

Our "furnished" apartment in Valparaiso, Chile was a 2-story loft with wood floors and a shower with exposed rock walls--BEAUTIFUL!

Smelly with a layer of filth from traveling I sprinted to the bathroom! It took less then 2 minutes to realize that "furnished" did not mean bedding included.

Undaunted by the lack of towels I flipped on the shower head and yelped like a kicked puppy. No freaking hot water! Our gas propane tank was empty! I didn't know how to buy a tank or where and my Spanish, well, sucks!*

Then I thought of Katherine Hepburn. She swam in a frigid sea/lake every day. She said it kept her body and mind strong!

So I stripped down and hopped in that icy shower screaming "Katherine Hepburn! Katherine Hepburn! What the hell were you thinking Katherine Hepburn?!"

But I was clean. My first shower in Valpo in my new apartment. I caught a cold but quickly recovered.

The shower did not recover though!

We finally bought a new propane tank but it leaked gas into my bedroom turning it into Sylvia Plath's oven. The bathroom faucet broke causing water to run constantly unless we turned off the water valves. Ants exploded everywhere and I'm pretty sure were biters and we had 2 new guests; one-inch slugs named Frank and Frank Pt. Deux.

Showering became a nuisance and with the constant heat, irrelevant.

Valparaiso itself is a slightly dirtier ciudad because the feral dogs rip apart trash bags searching for food. Heavy gusts of wind that run through Valparaiso scatter the trash everywhere and on everyone. So even if you were clean before you left the apartment, you weren't the moment you stepped outside.

To be completely fair though, Valparaiso, Chile' is a beautiful city full of political and religious graffiti, stilt houses with Tuscan colors and wonderful old men who slowly climb the cerros (hills) as their daily walk.

It is a ciudad full of honest grit and little pretension. And a place for a Neurotic Traveler to face and hopefully embrace their irks and quirks.

Whether I wanted to or not.

*I moved to Chile believing my Spanish to more then tolerable only to quickly realize that the dialect in Chile was extremely hard. It's fast, with "s" dropped on many words, and slang constantly changing.

A Full Apology

I left Chile on January 27th. It was an impromtu change of plans.

When I left the United States on December 2nd 2009 to start a new life in Chile I had no idea that 3 months later I would be watching the devastion of the earthquakes and tsunamis safely from my television in the USA.

I came back because I divided my money between two checkcards. The first checkcard worked but wasn't recognized by many ATM machines in Chile. The second checkcard, lesser known then the first, was null and void. Unable to transfer funds I was forced to quickly buy a ticket back to the states, 1 month early. I was pissed at myself, my checkcard company and Chile's banking system for being unable to recognize my funds.

I would like to extend a full apology to Chile and Westconsin Credit Union for all my grumbling and griping! Life COULD and would be very different if I had stayed.

And thank you to Orbitz for finding me a cheap ticket that sent me through Santiago, Chile. My first plan had been to buy a ticket from Lima to the USA, because flights to and from there are much cheaper. I would have bussed my way through Northern Chile and Southern Peru, right through the mudslides--that happened the day of my departure.

I am a lucky, little traveler.

Who is compulsively ready for more!

Anyone else have near tragic misses or worse, full exposure?