Adventuresam

I’d been preparing for this winter’s trip for a month.  My friend and I started in Northern Vietnam, Hanoi, with intentions of heading even farther north to iconic landscapes; three weeks of remote mountainous motorcycling through rice paddies.  And yes, to answer a question that you didn’t ask, the Vietnamese currency is named “dong”.  😂

The Vietnam government required us to have all of our documents in order before we arrived so weeks before our flight I applied for a visa online and printed out our letter of invitation.  Four months earlier, Vietnam had changed this process for US citizens making the visas year-long, multiple entry and more expensive, $155USD each.   For comparison, both Cambodia and Laos are 30 day $30USD, visa on arrival, and Thailand is 30 days free.  As an added feature, our Vietnam visa came with the custom officers not recognizing the new format and requiring a bribe payment for “coffee money” at one of our border crossings.

Welcome to Vietnam!  — An ornate temple in Hanoi.

An artistic photo of a student.

A photo of other people’s children.

I had to filter Ben this colour to make my under-eyes less dark.  Travel is all about compromise.

We spent time exploring Hanoi, drinking Weasel coffee (beans that have been partially digested by a mongoose relative, fermented, excreted by the animal, and then roasted. Ben said it was delicious, I had trouble getting past the facts.), visited a one pillar pagoda, made observations about Vietnamese money (they don’t have any coins in Vietnam), and laughed about how every single bed we slept in felt like a slab of sheet rock.

I have this idea that if you learn to do something in a harsh environment you become good at it.  It’s a working theory, but I thought that by learning to ride a motorcycle in the mountains of Vietnam — plus that one lesson from Dey —  I’d be able to ride anywhere.  No matter that it was going to be winding, cold and isolated!  Adventure and a new skill awaited!

We rented our bikes and checked the brakes at least four times.

After getting comically separated in the first 5 minutes, spending hours familiarizing ourselves with a manual bike in a sea of Asians on mopeds, and finally getting out of a hectic Asian city, it was time for lunch.  We picked a roadside stop that looked delicious.  As soon as we pulled over the owner pointed out a nail in my tire. — Uh-oh!
Turns out, it was literally no big deal.  I had conveniently broken down in front of a restaurant/skilled mechanic.  Ten minutes later, lunch and my bike were ready simultaneously.  For 80,000dong (less than $4USD) we’d eaten and gotten my bike fixed. We felt like real big spenders handing over 80,000 clams to our waiter/mechanic. Dong dong bills, ya’ll!

The best restaurant we found in Northern Vietnam.  Unfortunately, most of the other cuisine was disappointing and bland.

A misty outhouse.

We quickly realized that almost every other man in Vietnam is a seasoned motorcycle repairer.  Any problem we had with the bike was fixed cheaply and (literally) meters from where we had broken down.  It was very impressive.

Posing, when what I should have been doing was looking at the weather forecast.

It wasn’t supposed to rain.  Everything we had read said it was cold, sure, but also dry.  January isn’t the wet season in Northern Vietnam.

A hint of gorgeous scenery that alas wasn’t to be.

It poured!
We pulled up at a street-side restaurant to find shelter, talk about what to do and as always, eat. I gestured for some water to drink. The cook seemed to understand and brought over a plastic water bottle.  I took a big gulp…. and immediately ran outside to spit it out.  What I’d mistaken for water was actually rice wine, whoops.  In hindsight, I realized that it was not sealed and accompanied by a tiny glass.  Eventually I got regular water but not before the incident brought smiles all around.

Rainy day activities involved taking photos with the locals. Even in rural Vietnam, the women seemed to dress better than I do.

As the rain lightened up we continued back on our bikes but even gentle rain feels like hail at 50 kilometers per hour.  The conditions were dangerous; water filled up potholes and we could no longer see how deep they were.  And then another deluge.  We pulled over again.

Not pictured: Crazy locals speeding through on mopeds wearing flip flops.

Reexamining his vacation decisions.

Days and days of endless rain forecast; a change of plans was in order.  So, armed with a dry lunch spot, google maps, accuweather.com, and SkyScanner (a hit to our budget we hadn’t been expecting), we bought a plane/bus ticket to Vietnam’s neighbor, Cambodia. Forecasts for sunny skies and debilitating heat!

We stashed our bikes onto a bus and paid for a ride back to Hanoi where we had a flight to Ho Chi Minh the next day and, because we felt like we deserved it, got a massage.  I chose an adorable spot on Bui Vien.  The room was perfect with soft tables but Ben’s masseuse had a different idea of what we were looking for. While I was getting the stress rubbed out of my neck and back, he was violently flung around the table. The finale we dubbed the “airplane” where the masseuse held Ben in a wrestler’s hold and shook him while his spine cracked.  It wasn’t relaxing for either of us but I did get to laugh so hard I cried, making it one of the best massages I’ve ever had.

Early the next morning we said goodbye Northern Vietnam and hellooooooooo Cambodia.

Eager for adventure,
‘mi

These vibrant pictures are replete with reminders, and as I look at each one I think, ‘Yup, I remember exactly what was so special about that moment.’

Straight from Croatia to be with Katie and Dan Diamond for their exquisite wedding at PNC Park. ❤

“You’re a good driver,” said my dad.  Is there a better compliment?!

6am at Brittny and Rickys reception — I was in heaven.

Ecstatic girls, full of cake.

My hilarious best friend on team Level Up!

The famous Gab Bonesso!

Aunt Joan and Aunt Betsy in the fall. ❤

The fairy cottage. ❤

Cousins. ❤

Louis C.K. ❤

Proud to call Kendra and Eli my friends!  They’ve taught me so much about love. ❤

“Realizing it’s the good ol’ days while it’s the good ol’ days.” ❤

Jake and Colleen. ❤  We learned bar rules that night in Ithaca. And poor Hen was the sickest she had ever been.

Enzo snuggles after a night out with Rachel.

Deal me in!

Brian and Andrew, my wonderful friends, on their wedding night. ❤

“There’s joy inside of us.”

On a break from my office job volunteering for downtown Pittsburgh!

My role model, Vanja.

Empire’s first Christmas.

“Live a little!”  “I’m living a lot.” “Yeah, I’m trying to subdue you.” –  Hen

Pearl.

Happy Hanukkah!

An esoteric paragraph, because I don’t want to forget:
When Hailey and I played laser tag, Lou’s Little Corner Bar, framing Myanmar art with Emmy, Falling Water, Adam Day!, “Raping them over coals” — Colleen misspeaking to my parents re: pickle ball, Yom Kippork chops, Friendsgiving, Ben’s birthday, a cat-lady-bug on Halloween: a compound word for a girl, Election Night tacos and a sparkler for Virginia, capital laughter, when Helen ate a rose, Max and Art, Improv 102 with Chris, Kevin, Lori, Walter, Courtney, Ramsey, Joey, Nia, and Ben Mayer.

My 2016 travel summary:

6 weeks in Portugal — Telmo, Paula, and Iryna.
2 weeks in Spain — with my darling Colleen.
1 month in Morocco — and my first time in the desert.
8 days in Nicaragua — that will stay with Hen and me forever.
1 weekend in Mexico City.
6 weeks in the Balkans — year 4 with Katie Kuhn.
1 week out west; Colorodo, Vegas, and California.
And on December 25th, I leave for Vietnam.

I am ultra blessed to have a flexible job, and once again I’m ready to uproot myself; this time I’m heading to Asia.  I am taking a short break from Pittsburgh in order to rearrange my mental furniture, broaden my perspectives, and remind myself how little I actually need.

For the first time ever, I’m legally AdventureSam.
Happy?
Happy!,
‘mi

In October, I visited my bestie, Patrick, in Colorodo.  We camped in Crested Butte(iful) during a film festival and hung-out with incredible people.  The first day it rained; we watched a movie about Katie Lee, ate momos, laughed until we cried, and considered buying property.  The next morning I awoke to the sound of every different kind of zipper unzip, zip, zipping; sleeping bags yawned, jackets came off, backpacks got resituated, and tents were ventilated.  I took a deep breath of fresh, mountain air — the weather was idyllic.

I was left with no words but all the feelings.  Patrick brought everything we needed. ❤

Alex introduced me to the fashion term “power clash”.

Fly fishing, trout for dinner.

“Helping” Abe cook.

Catnip for humans.

“You’re not Patrick” — Nate, to me, proving that he is good at compliments.

The colours of the wind.

Those yellow butte(ies) are Aspens, connected underground, making them the largest organism in the world.

We ate a smorgasbord of s’mores, went for a hike, chatted about cowboys, warmed ourselves by the fire, ate fresh fish, and learned astronomy.  It was an amazing trip and I absolutely can not wait to go back.

From Colorodo, I visited the “Bay Area” where I saw the hilarious Ben Mayer and Tracey Morgan.

We drove a scooter across the Golden Gate bridge!

“Find a protest, join a protest, start a protest.”

I walked around UC Berkley campus, tried to pet squirrels, went on a scavenger hunt, and saw the movie “Seven”.  It was perfect.

Then! It was straight to Vegas for Brittny and Ricky’s wedding:

Epic location with epic people.

Beauty incarnate.

We saw Cirque de Sole on The Strip and I was elated to meet Scott, Michelle, Kelly, Doverspike, Jamie, Cassandra, Brandon, Natalie, Cheese Curl, moms, dads, and the rest of their crew. ❤

Scott: “Laughing so hard you cry while reading a menu?! Now there’s a happy girl.” ❤

To be fair, I’d never seen “pasta with fruit” listed as cuisine.

A few days later, I landed in LA LA land with my forever friend Molly and her boyfriend Brett.

All you can eat sushi.

My sojourn to the western US of A was busy, rich, and joyful!  I relished every second and wanted to extend it ALL.  I’m grateful to Ricky and Brit whose love was the inspiration and to all of my good friends for making me feel so welcomed!  I met wonderful, hilarious folks — an extension of Patrick, Brittny, and Ricky.  I hope that this post will enhance my memories and not overwrite them.  Next time, I think we should take more pictures. 🙂

Missing the Wild West,
‘mi

Randall and Pablo joined us for the last few days of our road trip as they had a few days off for Easter weekend. We decided to spend Good Friday in typical Nicaraguan fashion – a relaxing day at the lake. The plan was to find a secluded place to cross skinny dipping off of Hen’s bucket list.

We hired locals with a boat to take us to a private part of the lake.  They dropped us off and were to return in two hours.  We had fun in the sun and cooled off in the water.

A Good Friday indeed.

But then things took a tumble.  Specifically, Hen.  While she was getting out of the water she slipped and fell — naked — and face-planted on a rock. Hen was plucked.
Though she didn’t make a sound, I knew it was serious when I saw blood dripping down her face.  We urgently called the boat back – “MUY RAPIDO POR FAVOR!”
Helen tried to fall asleep but we wouldn’t let her, we were worried that she had a concussion.  She countered that the only way she could stay awake was if we sang.  So Randall accompanied her in a duet of “Love is an Open Door” from Frozen during the boat ride back to land.

I drove us to the hospital at a frantic speed and thankfully was not pulled over. Randall sat in the back and tended to Helen. We kept her awake the only way we could, by participating in her sing-along.  I can’t remember being more scared.

In the hospital corridor.

Getting an x-ray.  That’s not Helen’s blood. Better or worse?

The hospital was busy but competent.

Local anesthetic. Before the bruising set in.

Brave girl!

The doctor masterfully stitched Helen up, wrote out prescriptions, and TOLD US SHE WOULD BE OK!!! (That’s me being excited. We were genuinely terrified.)  That night we slept on a bed at La Biosfera, courtesy of a couchsurfer, a Colombian named Sebastian who had befriended us the night before and offered up his treehouse for recovery.  The next morning, he and his housemate performed Reiki on Helen to help her heal while I went into town to pick up stronger meds.

My view every hour when the alarm would go off: Time to give Helen more pills.

View from Sebastian’s on our last day.

“What’s more blue: My eyes or my spirit?”

Our final day was spent finishing our drive to Estili and exploring briefly before returning to Managua to pack for our early flight home the next morning. Hurt on Good Friday? Returning home on Easter? We call it Jesus style.

Before: Bright-eyed.

After: Customs Officer: “So….. what happened?”

Nicaragua will always hold a special place in our hearts and on Helen’s nose scar.

We received a lot of warnings about going to Nicaragua:  Don’t eat the street food. Dye your hair to blend in. Everyone will be out to get you. We can’t emphasize enough how safe we felt. Here are the caveats we would give to anyone going to Nicaragua:
Bring bug spray.  Ice cream is really hard to find. Leave your umbrella at home. And watch out for the rocks.

NicaROCKgua. Get it?

‘Mi and Hen

Helen and I were having a blast in Nicaragua. What a beautiful country full of lakes, volcanoes, and impossibly friendly locals. Our 8 days in Nicaragua were full of laughing to tears, meeting wonderful people, and trying new things. We set our sights on hiking two vastly different volcanoes: Telica (TELica?) which is currently active and Cerro Negro which last erupted in 1999 and tends to erupt every 16 years. Eek! We started with TelICa.

A hot-bed of volcanic action. The sound, heat, and olfactory stimulation at this crater were palpable.

“This is already the best day Hen’s ever had”

Jose Carlos, the tallest of all children.

This hot-bed of volcanic activity was miles from the base of the volcano itself. There we met these adorable children, who safely showed us around the bubbling earth. After a wonderful tour (we think, it was all in Spanish), Jose Carlos offered to be our guide for a much longer hike up Telica. TELica. TelICa. (Every time we said it, we were corrected on the pronunciation. Every time we changed it. Every time we were corrected again.)

Since Telica (TELica) is an active volcano, we asked child-guide Jose Carlos if we could go at night in order to look inside and see the lava. He was eager to be our leader and asked us to meet him at 3PM to start what was allegedly a 5 hour hike.  We met at his house and found his entire family waiting outside to meet us. They were beaming with pride. To our relief, his father Emilio, joined us with his machete in hand. Neither of them spoke a word of English.  No problem-a.

Emilio. The most patient man on Earth.

And so it began.

Hitting the trail or is the trail hitting us?

1 hour in, not a volcano in sight. Clues were abundant.

It proved to be an incredibly challenging hike, both physically and mentally. We spoke solamente en espanol. Hen and I brought a gallon of water to share. It was heavy, cumbersome, and not enough for two people. What was supposed to be 5 hours of adventure turned into 8. Nightfall came less than 3 hours into our hike and we were only equipped with our iPhone flashlights.  Gulp.  But not of the water (we’re saving that for later).

Optimistic, before the rationing.

Say “QUESO!”

Everything the light touches is our kingdom.

Clothed and Afraid: Nicaragua Edition:

On my belly looking into a volcano at night.  The lava rushed loudly beneath me. I army crawled on warm, soft ground. The night air smelled like sulfur. Heart palpitating. Jose Carlos wouldn’t get close.

We returned to their house at 11 PM, filthy and exhausted.

Joking aside, we never felt unsafe at any point on our 8 hour hike. Emilio was a skilled laborer who knew the area well. He and his son were perfect guides. We were effusively grateful. At the end of an exhausting day, Emilio said it was an authentic experience.  At least we think that’s what he said.
“I feel like I know enough Spanish to ask questions but not enough to hear the answers.” — Hen

The four of us were exhausted. They graciously offered us their beds to sleep in but they had already done enough. We were filthy and opted to sleep in our own adorable car in their driveway but not before we spent an hour using every baby wipe we had to get “clean” before entering our “home”.

When the sun came up a few hours later, Emilio and his family greeted us with coffee and let us use their shower.

Hen hanging in our new friends’ yard while Bam showered.

Hen learning how to use Emilio’s shower.

Post showers, Emilio proudly showed us around his yard. These are his animals:

“Some pig!”

Ask me how I got bird flu.

It was time for us to bid adieu. The whole family said goodbye.

Saying our Adios’.

For our next volcanic adventure we chose Cerro Negro, a volcano covered in black ash, infamous for volcano boarding near the northern town of Leon.

We’ve got volcanoes in different area codes.

“I guess when we signed up for this, deep down I must have known that that would mean carrying a board up a volcano. But somehow, it didn’t hit me until now, half way up.”

We chose a polished tour company this time but were still unprepared for how windy the volcano was. Imagine trying to climb up the type of rocks that are infamous for being easy to slide down. Yikes. We struggled to maintain footing while carrying 35lb boards on our backs.

Laughing to tears. Tears that were instantly taken by the wind.

The warmth of our friendship rivaled by the warmth of the ground.

Sammi: Helen, do you have pockets?
Helen: Yes, why?
Sammi: Be cool but I’m going to fill them with volcanic rock.
Helen: Wait… what?
Sammi: You’re going to want this, trust me. Try not to draw attention. I’m going to stuff them as full as possible because you’re going to lose some on the way down the volcano.

Started at the bottom now we’re here.

The Dark Side.

Where are the brakes?

Hen’s best ride.

Are you serious??  “I haven’t made a joke since our layover in Atlanta.”

Erupting with fond memories. Saving the best/worst for last,
‘mi and Hen

Helen Wildy, one of my best friends, turned 30 this year and to celebrate WE TOOK A TRIP!!!!!!!!!!!  Within 30 minutes of saying “Let’s go somewhere!”, we’d booked our flights. Destination:  Nicaragua!!!!!!

When we tried to check in at the PIT airport, we noticed Helen’s name was listed as “Hen”.  Uh-oh.  We were instantly panic-stricken; already running late for the plane, who the HECK was Hen?!  We spoke to the ticketing agent who had apparently never seen a typo.
“Is Hen a nickname? Does ANYONE call you Hen?”
And just like that, Helen had a new nickname.   

We decided that the best way to see as much of Nicaragua as possible would be to rent a car and use it as a hotel/car combo. We asked for the ugliest car so that if it were damaged or dinged during our travels, we wouldn’t be penalized by Budget for returning it hurt. We requested the “carro mas feo” and to our delight and surprise, we got THE CUTEST CAR IN THE WORLD.

We went to visit an old friend, Randall, in Nicargua’s capital Managua.  Randall and Pablo picked us up from the airport and took us home to make us dinner – those angels. That evening, I learned something new about Helen after 10 years of friendship: she is not her best self in the heat. Managua was unbelievably hot. Hen was cooked.

The hottest part of Nicaragua?  Randall.

We started our days at 5:30AM to beat the Nicaraguan heat. Our first morning, we made our way south to Catarina, which our tour book described as “a city with an obvious love of potted plants.” We happen to be people with an obvious love of potted plants so we HAD to go there. It was on the way to Laguna de Apoyo, a lake in a volcanic crater, where we had our hearts set on swimming. No really, it was SO hot.

We were teasingly close to the Laguna. We could see it from above. But we couldn’t figure out how to drive down to it. We kept seeing signs that frustrated us: “Mira Lagos!” No, queremos TOCAR lagos.  Como?

When we finally got there, we were nervous about jumping in only to discover that it was the MOST PERFECT WATER we had ever felt. We had ambitious goals to tread water for an hour nonstop. I set my timer. 12 minutes in, we changed it to 30 minutes. 20 minutes in, we called it a day. Good hustle.

That first day the passenger acquired many jobs:
1.  DJ.
2.  Helping switch lanes because the windows were so tinted.
3.  Choosing the route and then being the GPS.
4.  Looking out for stray animals (mostly emaciated horses and dogs) on the road.
5.  Reading the tour book about cities on the way.
6.  Watching for police cones of terror.
7.  Finding safe places to park the car to sleep in at night.
8.  Keeping an eye out for tasty looking street food.
9.  Distributing snacks.
10. Translating road signs.
11. Taking pictures.
In contrast, the driver had one job: Driving.

Passenger’s job #12: Be aware of evacuation routes for volcanoes.

Helen…. where does the black road on the map lead?  “…..Oh.”

Frutas.

Desayuno tipico Nicaraguense.

Typical colorful houses.

A rodent pet.  Not to worry, our hand sanitizer killed 99.9% of common germs.

On our first day, we discovered an important lesson:
We had just come out of a roundabout when we noticed orange traffic cones in the road and a police officer waving us (and a few other cars) down. We pulled over immediately.  An officer approached our adorable vehicle and told us in rapid Spanish that we had broken a driving law and we were in trouble. We tried our best to communicate, racking our memories for both any possible driving infraction and for as many car/road/vehicle vocabulary words that we could think of. We didn’t understand everything she said, but her plan was to take away my driver’s license and make us pick it up in a bank the next day. Confused, we pleaded with the officer in broken Spanish:
“Pero… la necesitamos. Porque estamos viajando por Nicaragua… y es importante. Por favor?”

Eventually we realized we could just pay the “fine” of 800 cordobas (about 35 USD) and carry on our journey with license in tact. Literal highway robbery.

We were in shock about what had just happened hours into our trip and couldn’t wait to get back to tell Randall! What a crazy once in a lifetime experience! Except it wasn’t.  Ten minutes later, we were stopped again, further down the road by another police officer. This time we approached with a new strategy: We don’t speak any Spanish. Lo siento. We listened and smiled politely as the police told each other in Spanish that we didn’t understand them and asked what they should do. We were sent on our way, thrilled that we had gotten away without having to pay a fine, but flabbergasted that we had been pulled over twice for crimes we didn’t commit.

We learned that cones in the road meant police and we expected to be pulled over.  Finally, the driver had another job!  Do not make eye-contact with police officers as you pass.

This was day one. We had many more lessons to learn in two more blog posts.
More soon,

‘mi and Hen (Cluck cluck)

I don’t blindly take travel suggestions but it was Katie’s turn to pick this year (year four!) and she’d always wanted to go to Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Slovenia.

Classic meets modern style in Croatia.

Bridge in Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Manicured, refined, picturesque and my favorite, Slovenia.

I knew nothing about this part of the world’s fascinating recent history before I’d arrived.  Facts (you may want to skip this part):
– In 1991, on the same day, Slovenia and Croatia declared independence.
– In 2006, Montenegro became a country.
– In 2008, Kosovo.
– Former Yugoslavia was made up of Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, Serbia, Albania, and Macedonia.
– Slavonia was the name of a place in Croatia. So there’s Slovenia, Slovakia, Slavonia.  Oiy.
– Croatians and Croats were different.
– Slovenia (the Euro), Bosnia and Herzegovina (the Mark), and Croatia (the Kuna) all had different currencies.
– Montenegro adopted the Euro on its own, much to the discontent of the European Commission, and then it applied to join the EU. Bold!
– Orthodox Christianity and the Byzantine Empire.
– Islam and the Ottoman Empire.
– Roman Catholicism, the Austrian Hapsburgs and Charlemagne.
– Tito was a beloved dictator and people (especially the older generation) missed him.  His name was written everywhere.

Zagreb, the capitol of Croatia, was a jolt of big city sophistication.  It was my landing spot and a palate cleanser. Zagreb felt livable and had, without a doubt, consistently the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  Marko, thanks to Singapore Nikki, was my rainbow cake-baking Couchsurfer, thank you to you both!   Jake suggested the Chillout hostel and my first ever bar crawl, whoa 🙂  And I’m eternally grateful to Filip Kesler who linked me with people whom I LOVE.

Kesler Family abroad ❤  Nikola and his rhymes, Petra, Filipe, and baby Julie.

The grandest cemetary entrance.

Croatia was really safe.  I was warned against displaying a flag-sticker — Nikola said it was associated with “red necks” — but otherwise I felt comfortable sleeping in a Red Fiesta, the car I’d rented.

I went south to meet Portugese Jan and his Slovenian friends on the island of Cres. Pronounced “crush”.

I have a Cres on you.

Nostrave! “Cheers” in Croatian!

I saw the Roman Colosseum in Pula during the day and a captivating gladiator reenactment at night.

The “American Idol” of Roman times.

I learned heaps:
– The organizers used to spray scented water over the crowd to mask the smell of blood.
– Most fighters were prisoners of war.
– The equipment weighed 15-20 kilos.
– Women were allowed to fight.

Easy, breezy, beautiful.

The Istria Peninsula continued to reveal itself gradually and seductively.  And fed me figs.   The serene countryside was covered in vineyards, a true coffee and wine drinking culture.

In Motovun, I went truffle hunting.  Adorably called “tartufi”. Approximately 1,000 tartufi hunters lived in this forest-y area.  Tartufi came in two colors, black and white, and each color “grown” in a different season:  Black Tartufi were sniffed out in May – August while the elusive, fragrant, expensive (!) white tartufi seemed to be in season September – January.  I write “seemed to be” because the white truffle is a mystery and scientists don’t know much about when it grows or where to find it.  #everydayimtrufflin

Truffle hunting dogs.  They don’t use pigs anymore because…oink oink. I called that little black one Truffelupogus.

ANY DOG can be trained to be a truffle hunting dog when it’s a puppy by rubbing oil on the mother’s nipples and mixing truffle flavored things into their food. The difficult part was then to teach these dogs to not actually eat the truffles that they find in the forest. Truffelupogus had to stay on a leash at all times because she liked to eat every single truffle she could find.  Oink, woof.

Once the dogs sniffed out a truffle (and pawed it over to their human), the truffle got weighed and sold, ideally on that same day.  The price of a tartufi is based on weight and the freshest truffles weigh the most.  Hunting for my own food with dogs in a forest was active, fun, and delicious.  Truffles are my current favorite cuisine.  No correlation that they also happen to be the most expensive food in the world.

Homemade gnocci and freshly grated tartufi.  My idea of heaven.

I picked up Katie in Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia.  Some things I’d like to remember:
– Friendly people and warm women.
– Arnessa, her husband, and her sister.  A civil engineer in white jeans.
–  Ines and her friend <3.
– Bosnian girls liked Belgrade (capital of Serbia) boys’ accents.
– Bosnia and Herzegovina had a stretch of coastline between Croatia.
– We never tried to spend money just to spend it….unless it was Marks.
– “Bosnians hate soft towels”.
– The border crossings in Bosnia were the most strict and the Italy/Slovenian crossing were the most lax.  I’m not even sure they were manned.

Mdjorje, the second largest Catholic pilgrimage site in the world (there are 14 stations of the cross). It’s rocky, sharp, and steep, and we walked up it spontaneously, with our shoes on.

Back to Croatia:
Most of Croatia we couldn’t pronounce and I employed that technique of looking for words with similar letters.  Just enough had to match up before I started driving.  We visited dozens of waterfalls and quickly learned that the earlier we arrived to a National Park the more private of an experience we were able to have.

Discussing our pre-teen book idea.

AdventureSam.

Market day.

Calcified water, which was how it got to be that color.

We visited Dubrovnik, where the famed Game of Thrones was filmed.  We met Juliana in Makarska, thanks to Paula!  Had a breezy, ferry-less day in Krka.   Observed comfortable silences when locals ate.  Noticed no obvious stray dogs, begging, or mange. My favorite car game was looking for a dumpster.  Saw Bosnia and Italy from high-up, although I’m not sure which was which.  Joked about a hypothetical scooter business at kilometer eight.  Visited the Museum of Illusions.  I accidentally spilled chips slowly in the back of the car.  Had movie night and learned about the Human Rights Watch, with its own investigative team on the ground.  Drank sweet sparkling water.  Men hoisted our car out of danger.  Visited a Brown Bear Sanctuary.  In Zadar, heard a soothing, melodic sea organ played by water. And ate a ton of bread.

Horses attempted to get in through our car window.  I didn’t mind.

The weather ruled our lives.

Plitvice: Unpronounceable and unforgettable.

We snuck over to Italy for a day:

Triste; Italian square.

Our gas ran out for the portable stove and in a country known for pasta we ate half-cooked noodles with uncooked mushrooms, raw onions, all doused in cold tomato sauce.  But I laughed until I cried.  And that croissant in the morning was European perfection.

sLOVEnia.  with love.
– About 2 million people.
– Land mass, half as big as Switzerland.
– Socialist, about 40% in taxes.
– My best Katies birthday. And also Katie filed my nails.
– Excellent wine.
– Tidy quaintness.
– “Caio”.
– A word for tree lined streets.
– Spoke English perfectly, no dubbing on TV, subtitles instead.
– A cave with a literal river flowing through it.
– “Don’t light the bats”.
– Horses can live to be 30, only the males are used for shows, and female horses can delay birth by 12 hours to birth at night.
– Lake Bohinj and Lake Bled, no motorized boats allowed.
– Cream cake for dessert.
– Maps.me did not get along with highways.
– Quaint alpine villages with colorful flower boxes on every window.
– Rolling countryside and roofed hay racks.

The Julian Alps.

Beautiful Ljlubliana:
– Feng shui on a grand urban scale.
– What people want Paris to be, a charm crescendo.
– Pedestrian paradise.
– A calm boat cruise.
– Spunky, savvy mayor who met every Tuesday with constituents.
– Where Jason and the Argots slayed the dragon.
– Their Philharmonic was the second formed in Europe.  Mahler was the conductor.
– Won Europeans greenest city, 2016.
– Possibly the most sophisticated place I’ve ever been.

Perky Slovenia.

On my way back to the comfortable USA, I had long layover in healthy, breezy Copenhagen.  Photo below.

Slathered with good looking people enjoying an afternoon.

On my final leg, I slept for 11 hours in the Boston airport because when I bought my ticket I deemed that to be a financially good idea.

Happy to be home,
‘mi

My long-weekend trip to Mexico evolved and the night before I left I boldly stated “I have never felt more prepared for any trip, ever!” Except for the fact, to quote Helen, “you haven’t even packed yet.”.

Boom, good point.

I threw all of my items into a carry-on purse, except for a huge umbrella which I had to hold seperatly and didn’t use one.  I had heard it was raining and what was more appropriate during rainy season than to accidentally leave your favorite umbrella at an Airbnb forever.  “Dearest umbrella, I hope your new Mexican family loves you as much as I did.”

La Ciudad de Mexico

I stayed in a gorgeous, tree-lined part of the city called Condesa, on Calle Amsterdam, and despite both the reputation of Mexico City and a street named Amsterdam, no one offered me any drugs during my entire stay in Mexico.

Before I had arrived lots of people not currently living in Mexico warned me to “be careful”.  And I was! But if Mexico City distanced itself from the name Mexico might it improve its international reputation?!

I read a wonderful guidebook called Mexico City: An Opinionated Guide for the Curious Traveler (that I took as law), color coded my maps.me, and my wonderful friends — Brett, Dana, Bety, Nicholas, and Ben — offered advice, companionship, and photos that shaped this spicy trip. 

Arte in the parquet.

I dropped off my bag (and umbrella *sigh*) and headed straight for tacos!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Literally the best tacos I’ve ever eaten in my entire life.  And that plastic coating made for a cheap and easy clean-up plus an efficent  turn-around!

I watched the ordering procession before choosing a broccoli and steak taco, I think.  My Spanish was good enough to order the food but surprised by what came (and what didn’t come).  I scarfed down whatever type of AMAZING tacos I had been served and ordered two more before I realized that my mouth was on fire.  I tried unsuccesssfully to hide my distress as I bought a bottle of water from a laughing Mexican at the stand next door.

“Picante?”, the man chucked as he handed a bottle over and tears streamed down my face.   Mexico has a standard level of spice with plenty of options to add more heat.  Despite my reaction, I really did love it.  The tacos were so fabulous that they rivaled (in both taste and price) the street food I had eaten in Thailand.

Lard is an actual ingredient.

Free condiments making each bite tastier and sloppier than the last.

In Mexico, street-food is an honour system.  You order, stand to the side, eat, order more, eat more, maybe order again, and finally pay.  There can be 30+ people standing around full-joying.

Amazing Taco al pastor from a friendly man.  An adaptation from the Middle Eastern immigrants.  Turkish-Mexicans. Cool!

Blue corn flatbread. And I know that’s not my hand because I’m growing my nails.

I ate chilaquiles, mole tamale for breakfast, all the tacos, chile nargota with pomegranate, taquitos/flautas, string cheese, fermented pineapple (not good), coffee that didn’t wave, horchata that tasted like chai, a beer version of a salty bloody Mary, and always, always  bottled water.   Except for once when we ran out and melted ice from the freezer to brush our teeth.  Resourceful times.

Conspicuous lack of burritos.  Did you know that’s a United States concept????!

For dessert there were dulcerias and bakeries with old-fashioned hand painted signs.  They were pretty and busy but unfulfilling.  Strong preference for TACOS.

Chocolate covered figs (bottom right).

—————

After years of being apart, brilliant Dana and I got to reconnect in Mexico City!!  “What benevolent forces made this happen?!” It was with gusto that we saw each other everyday.  I was wowed and inspired by her fluent, Argentine Spanish.  We caught up, laughed until we cried, and talked lovingly about the sweetest Paula.

My darling, outroverted Dana!

There was so much to see!:

• A shop where they fixed bicycles and chopped meat; hind quarters and bike tires were hanging from chains around the garage.  We didn’t eat there.
• A shop where they both cut hair and sold tacos.  We also didn’t eat there.
• Mariachis.  Standing on the side of the road, trying to get work.  You could hire them for an entire day to follow you around or sing to your girlfriend on her birthday.  Allegedly, different coloured hats meant they were from different cardinal directions.
• The mystery of the organ grinder: Why isn’t there more variety?  Is it just an old fashioned boom box?  Do they control things other than the speed at which the sound comes out?
• Diverse architecture and an excessively positive Museo Nacional de Antropologia experience explained to us by the wonderful Frederico, pictured below.  His friendship made exploring and finding more food a pleasure and I have the newly married Bety to thank!  I am eternally grateful  ❤  Muchas, muchas gracias!

Matching glasses.

This picture is because of the one you sent, Nicholas!

The Mayans thought people with Downs syndrome knew something.

Flying men in Chapultepec!  HUGE thank you to Antonio for answering (and looking up) every single bizarro question that I had!  I was mesmerized.

Mexico City has a higher elevation than Denver, Colorado.

Lucha Libre, elegant sounding words, no? — Like a foreign film or “free lunch” — But in actuality it’s Mexican wrestling.

The masks for sale outside of the venue. We, of course, bought some.

“This is not how I work up but, it’s how I look now.”

The event is a family affair and the smell of microwave popcorn hits you as soon as you walk into the arena.   At an early age kids started training — similar to signing your child up for Taekwondo you could sign your niños up for Luche Libre clase.

2 hours of pure entertainment. Good guys vs. bad guys, long standing disputes, and dozens of actors whom we knew nothing about.  A full impact event, these people destroy their bodies, throwing themselves off of the stage and into the isles. I loved it!  The sport — and I do think that’s the right word — is popular and wasn’t as funny as we’d thought it was going to be because it was actually really cool.

El Conquistador and La Samurai.

The next morning, in stark contrast (and because I’m a humor thrill seeker),  we went to church.

The most visited Catholic pilgrimage site in the world.  An 8:30am service with a children’s choir.  In the center of this photo is the Virgin de Guadalupe, the Virgin Mary with a different skin colour. Those empty seats up front were filled by a parade.

Preciousness.

Postcards of the Pope, he’s wearing a sombrero bottom right.

Mexico City and I had a Honeymoon.   There were blue titled buildings that reminded me of Portugal and jungle gym intricacies filled with happy children.  The harassment was barely there, no men kissed at me or tried to touch me!  The people were polite, kind, and courteous, even as I navigated through busy markets.  The begging was minimal.  The dogs I saw (and I saw heaps) were well-groomed, without mange, and all on leashes.  Where were the strays?!  I was continually impressed by how wonderful of a place Mexico City was!!

Other notes: cool temps, older folks dancing in the park, horrendous traffic, a hot-rod extravaganza (!), parques galore, the modern day library Biblioteca Vasconcelos, that flower market!!!!!, Mexican furries, and why would you eat anything other than tacos?

My (double) Quinceanera’s coming up.

Love, from the top of the Mexican Angel of Independence,
‘mi

If there is one week when I am guaranteed to laugh until I cry on a daily basis — which I think we all can agree is the best feeling in the world — it’s the week the furries are in town.  And this year, July 2016, was no exception.

Hyperventilating

If you’ve never met me, here’s a post explaining what they’re all about.  And here’s a link to last years post.  And here’s a gratuitous time when I saw them in Australia.

My best friends came from around the world on staggered days, some of them meeting each other for the first time.  In the order they arrived:
Colleen flew from Ithaca
Molly flew from LA
Russ drove from Mississippi
Travis flew from Australia
Patrick flew from Iceland
and Helen lives in Pittsburgh
❤

Iwassoexcited!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We started wearing our tails 5 days before official Opening Ceremonies.

Can you believe this event happens in my hometown?!?!?!?!

Wag wag WAG

MORE WAGGING!!

The best kind of Panda-monim.

But now he’s just some bunny that I used to know.

Raquel, taking selfies with the extra-large local celebs.

The “Macro furs” ready to right-foot-red/stomp-on-buildings!!!

Puppy-pile-love

The connector between The Weston and The Convention Center: The air-conditioner is blasting to keep the people in my favourite kind of suit, the fur-suit, happy.

What do you call a magic dog? A Labracadabrador.

Dat tail doe.

“Patrick says ‘I you can laugh you Rus’.”  I mean, I wrote it down verbatim.

Russ sang What a Wonderful World at furryoke this year and it was epic!

My furiends at the dance party ❤

I’ll call this video of me dancing, the tail wagging the dog 🙂

Special shout-out to the after party with Britney and Ricky. One of the best nights of my life  ❤

Ponying up some money to buy one of everything in the Dealers Room.

Speaking of ponies, the My Little Pony talk was a highlight even though we were all rubes.  There was a raffle — which anyone could win — and therefore gave my team a fair chance.  Several different sized stuffed-animal Octavias were up for grabs and no, we didn’t know who that was before we won. (Turns out, an adorable grey cartoon horse who we later donated to Helen’s young niece, not in attendance.)  When it came time for trivia, my team was stumped at the specific questions asked (the name of the father of the best friend who appeared only once in episode 3 season 4) and flabbergasted at the amount of exuberance and knowledge the rest of the room showed.   Helen’s seat-neighbor was a smart, shy fan of the show and he won us a Rainbow Dash! The entire room murmured with jealousy.

A Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever can not change her spots.

Happy as a clam, if a clam had fur.

Adult life is wonderfully weird.

How now, brown rhinoceros.

Early Sunday morning, when we were a lifetime away from the furries, Patrick and I decided to make a move: The Closing Ceremonies were still 7 hours away, enough time for an adventure.  We hitched a ride downtown and talked about how different everything would be if we had masks to wear when I remembered I’d heard it was fursible that this year there was an artist who was renting “heads” by the hour.  Eureka! We deh pon a mission.  Heading to the Dealers Room we discovered exactly two “heads” for rent — which is how, for $20 an hour, Patrick and I transformed into a lion and a zebra, respectively.

Straight from the horses mouth.

Instantly, our worlds changed.

And not just because we weren’t able to see or hear as well.  The masks provided anonymity.  They were an equalizer, a way to view the world without being viewed ourselves; these heads anthropomorphized us.  We admired each other’s outward appearance and linked arms as we began to navigate our new lives.  Everything seemed different.

“Is it difficult to see out of your mask?” I asked Patrick while focusing on the ground.  “What?” Came the muffled reply.  We had to stop shuffling in order to listen to each other — it was impossible to talk, walk, and hear simultaneously — and quickly realized that the best way to communicate (both to hear and to see)  was out of each animals mouth-hole , which belied the proverb “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”, ha.

Can you hear me now? This is what I looked like when I pried the mouth open, attempting communication.

We worked our way up the escalators with limited sight, the masks acted as blinders and my peripheral vision was completely shot.  We moved at a slow speed because I couldn’t see any “people” until they were directly in front of me.  One such “person” was another zebra who gave me his business card; he also questioned my motives for fraternizing with a predator.

“Let’s go to the head-less zone (a room only mask wearers are permitted.)” , Patrick suggested, “since we’ve never been allowed inside of there before.”  Great idea! The Headless Zone, it turned out, was a room full of fans, drying racks (on which to hang your sweaty outfits), and jugs upon jugs of ice-cold water.  If only they could come up with a better name.

“Let’s try to switch heads”, I proposed, as I gratefully peeled the zebra head off, wanting a break.  The lion mask had lighter eye swatches and thus made it slightly easier to see out of merely “impairing your vision by 60%”, according to Patrick.  Ha.  With either head on, we both would have passed as legally blind.  We switched back.  Patrick looked good as a zebra but since my shirt was striped it made me look like I’d woken up knowing I was going to be a zebra.  Holding tails, we continued to blunder our way around the convention as adorable, vision impaired, predator and prey.
——————————–

We loved our new fursonas!

“Let’s go outside”,  my lion friend roared. We walked the streets and relished our new perspective; this was even better than I’d thought it was going to be!  It was crowded on the sidewalk and we blended in among the full-fursuiters.  A dream I had not even realized I had had!

All of a sudden, someone stopped to ask me for a photo!  “Sure!!” I squealed as I dropped Patrick’s tail and stopped to strike a pose, balled my hands up into the shape of hooves and held them up against my chest.  I hoped Patrick was behind me pretending to attack.  “Thanks!”, came a reply.  I turned towards them and responded “No problem!”  So this is what that felt like.

Vogue.  Tourists pay thousands of dollars for this shot in the Serengeti.

Patrick grabbed my arm just as someone else asked “Hey, can I also get a picture?”  “Yup!” I said, as Patrick, who, I know now was laughing hysterically, could barely choke out “Sammi, no.”  I tried to find where his voice was coming from but it was difficult to see with the mask and all the people. “Wait, the picture,” I tried to tell him but he pulled on my arm again, “They’re not taking a picture of you”, he said, his voice breaking from laughter-tears.

Whhhhhhaaaaaaaat?  My face was quizzical but the mask hid everything.  Patrick must not have seen the people who had just clearly asked take a picture of me.

I held my mouth-hole open to see as much as possible as I searched for Patrick.  He was very close and also holding his mouth-hole open, tears streaming down his face as the oblivious crowd swarmed by.  It was like having Planet Earth-themed tunnel vision.

“Those people didn’t want a picture of you.”

I was so confused.

“Yes they did,” I countered, not seeing anything besides Patrick out of my mouth-hole.

“That big Moose furry, the one with the sombrero, was next to you.  Those people wanted a picture of him.  You just posed for a picture you weren’t in.  You weren’t even turned the right direction for the picture.”

A picture is worth a thousand herds.

My eyebrows furrowed as I turned my ear away from the mouth-hole.  I was unable to both hear and see at the the same time.

What did Patrick say??

I reeled as Patrick, who could barely breath because he was laughing so hard, doubled of over.  The realization started to hit me and I began to laugh, too.  We were crazy people.

“And then”, he wheezed “in the end, I watched you turn 45 degrees in the wrong direction to tell no one ‘you’re welcome’.” We’re both in tears now.  “You weren’t even facing them!”

The blood rushed to my face (not that you could tell).  The wrong direction?!  I wasn’t talking to anyone??!   This was news to me as we both launched into hysterics.
“I wanted to tell you”, he managed to say, “but you couldn’t hear and by the time I reached you someone else had stopped The Moose and asked to take his picture. Again, they weren’t talking to you.”

“They weren’t talking to me?!” I was incredulous.  “Are you sure??”  “YES!”, Patrick exclaimed while cracking up, “I was watching you!  I could see the whole thing!!”

“You can see?!!” I don’t know which piece of news hit me hardest:  That Patrick had watched my entire performance when I had put the camera before the horse, so to speak, and posed for a photo taken of someone else, that I had said “no problem” to literally no one, or that Patrick had had sight this entire time!

We held onto each other as we stumbled back into the air-conditioning and laughed.  I was exhausted and satisfied and it was sadly time to return the rented heads and attend Closing Ceremonies.  My face was wet from crying.

This year, the 20th anniversary of Anthrocon, was the largest furry convention to date with over 7,300 registered fursonas and I think it’s safe to say that next year will be even bigger.

Birds of a feather.

The 4 months I spent in Pittsburgh:

Scooter lyfe.  All day.  Errrryday.

Her name is Victoria Pinksburgh II and she gets about 100 miles to the gallon.

Moms first ride on scoot scoot, scoot scoot!

We call ourselves The Empire ❤

Cruising down the Allegheny

With some Findley Lake, NY  ❤

A visit from Kevin.  Also, Chuck Deft, you almost can’t hear him.

Healthy eating and the Banff Mountain film festival.

This summer I worked heaps, joined a gym for the atmosphere, connected with old friends, made new ones, visited my parents, and saw loads of comedy including Jerry Seinfeld (a legend for a reason!), Gabriel Iglesias (you were right, Rusty, he was hilarious), Jim Gaffigan, and Dave Chappelle (chain smoking cigarettes while cracking me up).  The cool VIP coordinator, Whit, invited us to a wild Ru Paul drag race show.

Flowers, books, and points, points, points!

A pink eye: Without pre-planning, Colleen, Molly, and Sammi coordinated toothbrushes.

I showed off Pittsburgh by scooter, ate at my favorite French restaurant, saw jazz at Andy’s, didn’t put a spin on things “well she’s colouring and I’m reading.”, went a *little* overboard on flag day, reconnected with the hilarious Nick Wilt ❤ saw Helen kill-it in standup, smelled Romero (the corpse flower), went to a fun rave, cheered on the Cavs, got a private tour of Heinz Hall, had a birthday at the Mt Troy Inn, was gifted a charming plant, a Guinness tap, home-made wine, and a rhyming scavenger hunt (!), got a work-out during laser tag, joined a flower CSA, bought a new pair of Burks, helped friends connect overseas (Paula and Dana ❤ and Ben and Julia ❤ ), had wine and scrabble night, watched a friend get a thumb headdress, heard Helen giggle while thinking about the word tickle “that’s how you know you’re ticklish”, got giddy seeing the Cubs at the Fairmont, ate moms perfect pork chops, and loved going to pup night at the Pirates stadium! “These are great seats if you don’t love baseball and don’t care what’s happening down there”. – Empire jokes

Our improv teacher and her husband.

I took an improv class with Helen at Arcade Comedy, a non-profit theater downtown; 3 hours a week were dedicated to laughing, learning, and playing games.  We looked forward to class every single week, made friends, took risks, and were encouraged by our phenomenal teacher, Kristy Nolan, who was full of decades of experience and sound wisdom.  We were constantly inspired by her and applied the things she taught us to our every day lives:
Say yes to your partners suggestion!
Listen and then respond. No need to formulate a reply in advance.
Contribute and expand on ideas.
Being decisive helps your partner.
One person looks silly doing it  (e.g. A strand of pasta.)  Everyone on stage doing it looks coordinated. (e.g. A bowl of spaghetti!)
And
“If you’re not having fun then you’re the jerk.”

Soulmates, freaking out before our first performance.

Friends who came to support us at our 101 class show

If you’re a baker you’re going to get flour on yourself.  We’re in the comedy business, we’re going to get laughter on ourselves. ❤

I learned that everyone has an ironic trait and mine is over ordering, nicknamed myself can-can because good food tastes like it’s under $1, went to Katie Diamonds birthday party in her gorgeous new home, over-took care of my house plants, picked out favourites named Rainbow Fern and the soft Purple Passion. Leeny gifted me by taking all of my least favourites home!  Went to Britney’s bridal shower, fit in with the misfits, got competitive, and then shared all of our prizes.  Back on the scooter I laughed and Hen came close cause she heard her favourite sound.

I’ll close with some photos of animals in my life before my next post…which is about a different type of animals.  hint hint 😉

Lily! ❤ And a perfect reminder that I’m not ready for a pet.

Toby, getting ready to snuggle.

Sweet Pearl

Cash, the greatest dane

To quote my friend Gabe:
“I got lucky.  Tripped uphill. Best life I’ve known.”
from the 412,
‘mi