Comfort Zone
Last week, while my friend drove me to the Philadelphia airport to fly to Seattle, Washington, I kept up a steady stream of chatter to try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I was nervous which isn’t really that different for me, so I’ll say more nervous than usual. I was about to embark on a trip which was definitely outside of my comfort zone, let alone the eastern time zone, and I had a number of concerns:
- I planned a road trip with my college roommate, currently living in Seattle, who I had not spent a significant amount of alone time with in almost 10 years. The road trip was to begin and end in Seattle with stops in Portland, Talent, Ashland, Tillamook Oregon and Gasquet California. Not only was it important to me that the trip go well, I felt that the outcome of the trip would be a significant indicator of the status of our friendship going forward. Would we be those stylish old broads in floppy hats and Jackie-O sunglasses thirty years from now on a train to Milan if I drove her batty with my obsessive picture taking on this trip? I had my doubts.
- Believe it or not, this was my first time flying by myself. Me, navigating public transportation, is a lot like me trying to solve a geometry problem; I make a stupid mistake and then spend a good 20 minutes trying to figure out where I went wrong. Arriving on time, checking my bag, clearing security, finding my gate, successfully boarding the plane, and not getting sick on the plane mid-air– was as daunting as the Pythagorean theorem to me.
- All of our reservations were made at Air B&B’s. Now I agreed to this in the spirit of saving money, and also to save money. Did I mention saving money? I am a person who has watched about a baker’s dozen too many Law & Order episodes to feel entirely comfortable with the idea of of staying in a stranger’s spare bedroom in Portland, a tent in Talent, or a remote village in Gasquet. Details such as compost toilets, outdoor showers, chicken and goat pens, and warnings about being awoken by roosters crowing and “element of roughing it” sounded about as appealing to me as a trip to the dentist. BUT... in for a penny, in for a pound, right? I crossed my fingers, as my friend booked our air B&B’s, and tried to take comfort in the fact that, Law & Order not withstanding, our trip was now guaranteed a good story or two.
- In terms of street photography on this trip, I had given myself the task of actually talking to people instead of taking photos of them from a block away, curtsey of my telephoto lens. Although the former sounds like it should be ridiculously easy and the latter kind of creepy, I find it to be a challenge. From a distance, you can observe and photograph without interrupting or disturbing your subject. From up close, the subject is aware of you and the camera and that can change the whole dynamic of the photo, for better or worse. Plus you have to make small talk, an art form onto it’s own. This was definitely going to be interesting.
As I stepped out of the car, on the curb in front of the sign for US Airlines, I reflected, not for the first time, on how much I must really love to travel despite airports, social anxiety, irrational fears, rational fears, an abhorrence of packing, and sense of direction that could rival a toddler with an ear infection. And yet, I do all of that and more, to see someplace new, to see someone I love, to travel outside of my comfort zone. Stay tuned for the next segment of my trip.
Oops, I just stepped in history
Yorktown, Virginia. Ever been? Chances are you haven’t if your dad isn’t a rabid history buff who thinks touring battlefields, reading crumbling gravestones, and hanging out in historic villages is the optimal way to spend one’s leisure time come summer, but as fate would have it.... my dad has been packing my family up to visit Yorktown since I was a little kid.
Here’s a brief recap of what went down at Yorktown and why you should care: During the Revolutionary War in 1781, British General Cornwallis and his forces were trapped and surrounded by American and French soldiers (yes, our last successful collaboration) at which point he surrendered, because that is what you do when you are surrounded by soldiers and George Washington is telling you to back your sh*t up. That’s probably not exactly what he said, but you get my point. This was the last major battle of the Revolutionary War, the cradle of American independence, the stomping ground of George Washington and the the Marquis de Lafayette, and yet... the locals still can’t believe that you would deliberately spend your vacation there.
I couldn’t believe it either. Yorktown doesn’t exactly come up on the top of my list for destination spots, but between the forces of nostalgia, the genuine excitement from my parents to be going on a family trip, and my sister’s easy and ready assent to go, well, let’s just say I know how Cornwallis felt as he faced defeat from all sides.
So here is a brief recap of some of my favorite things or moments from Yorktown:
1. Family time in the car during flash floods. If you think there is nothing like a six hour car trip with your family, try a eight hour car trip due to flash floods washing out the road.
2. Giant Stingray in the York River. I say “giant” because any stingray in any place other than an ocean, is giant to me. York River is an estuary that connects directly to the ocean which means all manner of marine creatures can find there way into the river, including a pair of nursing sharks that were mating down by the pier. And this I shall underline, No one thought stingrays and sharks in a river was alarming but me.
3. Hunting for sea glass at the beach. The prettiest pollution byproduct by far, of drunken fisherman and wayward teens dropping their empty beer bottles in the river, is sea glass. Many of the local vendors sell jewelry made from their findings at the market on Saturdays.
4. Bike Ride on the Battlefields. I had high hopes for this bike ride right up until my sister handed me a can of bug spray and told me to use EXTRA because last time she was “eaten alive”. I thought she was exaggerating until mid-way through, when I ran my bike into a tree after a kamikaze deer fly dive bombed my face, forcing me to make a sudden arboreal stop. Public Service announcement: Always wear a helmet when bike riding as nature is fickle.
5. “Spontaneous” Drum and fife marches. There is nothing like hanging out at the beach, eating some Ben & Jerry’s and watching a group of teenagers march by in Regimental uniforms reminiscent of those served in the Continental Army playing drums and fifes. It’s moments like these that make me think, “I love America. And cookie dough ice cream.”
6. The Bermuda Triangle of history. Yorktown is part of the Historic Triangle of Yorktown, Jamestown and Williamsburg which are connected by the Colonial Parkway. Now if you haven’t heard of Yorktown, I know you have heard of Colonial Williamsburg. If you are a fan of drum and fife marches, souvenir pewter candlestick holders and straw hats, and paying extra to tour historic homes– then Booyah y’all! This tourist attraction will not disappoint.