...Van Down By the River

Dedication

2008-06-04T10:54:00.000-07:00

Joseph Neal Johnson died in his sleep on May 22, 2008, about 10 1/2 months after returning home from this incredible trip. He suffered from epilepsy, though it never held him back from driving a van across an entire continent, getting his PADI dive certification, and living life with a beautiful fierceness.

This blog encapsulates our story through our travels – a source of trial and adventure that I could not be more thankful for. Not a week before Joe passed away I was re-reading this blog, feeling the vibrancy and potency of our lives rush over me in a wave of nostalgia and yearning. This year together was the highlight of my life, something that can never be taken from us. I will never regret a moment of it.

I'm dedicating myself to designing a book about this trip, however long that may take. This man meant the whole world to me. Please, if anyone is reading this, feel free to email me or comment, I would love a collection of photos and stories. Will keep posting about book progress. Miss you Cuy.
Love, Rachel

And They Lived ______ Ever After...

2007-07-10T14:44:00.000-07:00

26,964 miles later, we returned to Los Angeles bathed in sweat that only the Arizona Desert can provoke. Following the same sentimental route of our very first journey with Günther, we've completed the homestretch from Phoenix to LA for hopefully the last time, ever. The life we once knew has evolved into something undeterminable at the moment, a haphazard space of dusty boxes, a generous handful of people we love throughout the city, the ebb and flow of question marks, a loyal van we call home. Our trip for the last year has been an enormous, beautiful, difficult, dynamic undertaking. Our post-trip musings have produced some things we'd like to review for a moment:

Days on the road: 342
Total U.S. states: 35
Total countries: 10
Northermost point: Fairbanks, Alaska
Easternmost: Cape Cod, Massachusetts
Southernmost: Panama City, Panama
Stolen property: 1 bike (Vancouver)
Mechanical holdups: 1 axle, 1/2 engine, 1 tire, 1 wheel bearing, 1 brake hose, 1 coolant pipe, 1 radiator fan
Photos taken: 5,813
Friends & family visited: 73
Animals hit: 0
Tickets we talked our way out of: 4
Cops paid off: 1 ($20 to the only cop with an actual radar gun)

Things We've Learned
1) If you want to find out if you really, truly, love somebody, travel with them for a year in a van.
2) The U.S. is the most beautiful country I have seen on the planet.
3) Bats and bears don't actually care that much about killing you.
4) Forget focusing on the destination and experience the journey.
5) Despite warnings, propane burners can be used for personal heating.
6) Fruit picked in the wild tastes 10 times better.
7) Though the South may have lost the war, they won with the deep fryer.
8) Baby goats sometimes look like puppies, but my real dream is to one day snuggle a manatee.
9) Guatemalan women are tougher than the men and burros combined.
10) Flushing toilet paper is a privilege you take for granted as an American.
(Rach)

1) Surfing with friends in clean, warm, uncrowded surf is the most fun thing to do on earth.
2) When encapsulated in an air-tight van, women produce just as much gas as men.
3) Just because a vendor is 8 years old, doesn't mean you have more haggling experience than them.
4) All the people with the worst stories about Central America have never actually been themselves.
5) While capitalism may be the best system for creating wealth for the masses, Central American capitalism is the best system for creating wealth for 5 people.
6) There is no bottom to the dark pit known as Korean thriftiness.
7) A man is not complete until he has repaired his own vehicle. With duct tape.
8) The beauty and enjoyment of a destination is intrinsically linked with the difficulty of reaching it.
9) The Alaskan man is first judged by the quality of his beard, then his character, and finally by his moose pepperoni.
10) A shot of tequila a day keeps the parasites away.
(JJ)

The next step? Ask us a bit later. For now we just want to see our families, pick up the pieces, and figure it all out. Think of it as more of an ellipses...

Limping Home

2007-07-02T10:19:00.001-07:00

Upon hitting the northernmost regions of Mexico, our sentimental Günther has protested in the most inconvenient of ways. It seems he's grown quite attached to life south of the border, preferring to bask in the constant sunshine of carefree retiree livin'. We've had to drag him kicking and sputtering through the intense heat of the Sonora desert, relying on the ingenuity of Mexican Mechanics.

In case your experience with Mexican Mechanics is limited, allow me to enlighten you. They are the most rapid, straightforward, and creative repairmen around. Who needs the Capitalistic society of "parts" and "factory settings" when all you really need is a length of recycled hose, some spliced wires, a toggle switch, and a few second-hand clamps? Appointments, estimates, waiting? Try same-day service, 20 bucks, and jerry-rigging galore. It may not be the Volkswagen Dealership Standard, but it certainly beats tooling around Navajoa when all you really want is return to the sweet soil of Home.

Speaking of which, we are a mere day away from the Nogales Arizona border. Strange, yet true. Our main focus right now is marathonning it back to Los Angeles, until we hear the sweet comforting rattle of our tailpipe echoing in the driveway on Fairfax. What comes next is up in the air, as the fine Mexican dust settles and we take time to look at the result of our lives after nearly a year straight on the road.

- Rach

Wreaking Hammock

2007-06-28T08:38:00.000-07:00

Enough with the freakish beauty of mexi-mannequins, let's talk about us for a while. For the past 10 days or so we have been reveling in the bounty of Mexico's surf from Guerrero to Michoacan. These 2 bastard step-children of Mexican states are much maligned due to the fact that copious amounts of pot are grown in the mountains and smuggled northward. But, thanks in part to this reality, we have 400kms of pristine, mostly uncrowded surf.

We've been making our way north slowly, stopping for fun surf and some serious hammocking. We're talking 8 hours in a day sometimes... of hammocking that is. Spots like La Ticla have been our highlight where we live for under $20 a day. The daily itinerary is typically something like this:

7:30 - wake up and surf
10:00 - eat breakfast
10:30 - read in hammock
1:00 - eat lunch (preferably in the hammock)
2:00 - surf again (try not to get fried by the unrelenting sun)
4:00 - more hammock
6:30 - surf until sunset
8:30 - order shrimp dinner
10:30 - after losing all hope of dinner ever coming we finally get served the shrimp
11:30 - nigh nigh time
Rinse and repeat.

So basically that's been it. Since most of you probably assume we are making up this whole surfing thing we got our buddy Luciano to take some pics to prove our existence. On film, just as in the water, Rachel looks extra beautiful and thoroughly more impressive than Igor the Goth Surfer. That's me.

Mexico, Land of Tropical Splendor.

- JJ

Back to Mama Ocean

2007-06-22T10:52:00.000-07:00

Despite our brief period of feeling "beached out" on the Caribbean side, our return to the Pacific is like returning to the warm, wet embrace of an old friend (did that sound gross?). There's nothing like getting back into the water and onto a surfboard when you've missed it for a few weeks. It's very strange, yet comforting, to revisit familiar territory on our way back north, with a sense of already having mapped out this particular region of the globe.

To avoid sounding redundant, as this is repeat territory, I will give the gift of the random tidbit.

Throughout Mexico, storeowners/visionaries have a special gift that we like to call "mannequinnery." Only they know how to push a product from the realm of "want" to "must-have." I don't know how they do it, you really must experience it yourself to understand. You're welcome.

- Rach

Take a Oaxaca on the Wild Side

2007-06-17T16:42:00.000-07:00

Just as I was about to give up on this brilliant mess of a country, Mexico pulls a classic Luchador comeback and completely redeems itself. For those wondering if my fever has finally overtaken me, I'm fine. I am simply infected with the ridiculously delicious culture of Oaxaca, Mexico D.F. and the highlands. Infected!!! Get it?... Like a fever.... you know, with a temperature and bacteria... Ehh?

All Peter Griffinisms aside, I think I finally realized what we were missing. Actual legitimate cities. We're not talking about fabricated tourism concepts but real, huge, smelly, vital, intellectual, commercial and artistic crossroads. In the last 10 days we've gone from the highly artistic, passionate and political Oaxaca, to Mexico DF, the grandaddy of Mexican cities. DF is a proud cultural epicenter that feels like a slightly friendlier but even more unapologetic version of New York. It goes without saying we loved them both and the blogging batteries are recharged.

Since the cities are so different I won't try to compare the two but instead throw out some general truths that you learn, hopefully quickly, in major Mexican cities:

Transportation - Don't bother driving. Lanes are merely a suggestion, as are stoplights. Although I find it fun in a Nintendo sort of way, it's only a matter of time until your vehicle looks as crappy as the one next to you. Buses and metros, on the other hand, are a steal at 20 cents and go just about everywhere you wouldn't want to take your car.

Food - Every city has their regional speciality that should not be missed. So long as you know your limits. Oaxaca has seven different delicious mole sauces but they will also look you dead in the eye and tell you not to miss their grasshopper rellenos. When all else fails there are always jugos (juices). They blend anything you wish and do it in style. To our fascination we found out that there is also a weekly magazine called "Jugos". I think I should take a job there just so I can see the most creative editor on earth come with 50 pages of content about juice every week.

Architecture - Buildings in DF are more beautiful when guarded by Federales in riot gear. In Oaxaca all structures must have be adorned with at least 5 different layers of paint, exposed brick, and graffiti that all bleeds into aesthetic perfection. Also of note, Rachel has found that unsuspecting Mayan folk in front of buildings make for the best architectural photos.

History - When it comes to pyramids, bigger is better. It doesn't matter if you use it for anything, so long as it's at least a gigantic lounge chair for a ruler. Oh yeah, and when that ruler dies, it's best to cover his skull with precious stones to make sure whoever sees him in the afterlife knows he was super important.

Art - Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera rule the school in Mexico and prove that it's better to not care about patrons and commissions. As Diego could attest, JD Rockerfeller didn't like the same stuff he did. This particular masterpiece of a mural was recreated in the Presidential Palace of DF after "The Rock" destroyed the original in NYC for which he commissioned Rivera site unseen. Why is it that capitalists and communist have so much trouble finding common ground?

and finally....

Entertainment - When in Rome, hop on a train to the other side of the tracks, scalp tickets outside of a stomping coliseum, and enjoy the complete splendor that is Lucha Libre. After the madness subsides, what else can you do but put on a Mystico mask, buy a few more for the road, and marvel at the grotesque way in which oily, sweaty latin men legitimately bring families together.

I hope this was informative and helpful. Just in case you didn't learn anything we would like to leave you with a parting shot of the Mexican Hairless that fearlessly guarded our RV park. BTW, did you know that older Mexicans enjoy this particular breed because their black, sun-trapping, hairless bodies retain heat late into the night, making them an excellent hot water bottle capable of easing the ills of arthritis? And they cry real tears.

JJ

Ruined

2007-06-07T15:56:00.000-07:00

So I've noticed that a few of our friends are disappointed because I haven't blogged in a while. First I have to say, start a blog and tell me how easy it is to keep it up religiously for almost an entire year. On second thought, don't start a blog. There are way too many of them out there already. Unless, of course, you want to divulge some sordid details of your personal life. After all, that's what blogs spawned from and really is the only thing that gets the electronic butts in the seats. Yes JR I'm talking to you. Just let it all out.

After a few weeks back in Mexico I must admit Rach and I are feeling a bit homesick. We have even humoured the thought of bee-lining it for Gringolandia. I know what you are thinking... especially those reading this at work. "Those ungrateful bastards have the trip of a lifetime and they're wasting it by wallowing in homesick misery." Just hear me out. Look, we've been on the road a really long time. Almost eleven months. Though the Yucatan, Chiapas, and basically all of Mexico aren't without their charms, we are just finding it harder to get excited.

Maybe it doesn't help that we only mastered survival Spanish and didn't quite cross-over into "deep personal connection Spanish." Linguistical nuances aside, once you've gone down the whole coast you constantly compare every meal to a previous one that was just a little better and cheaper. Once-charming interactions with the colorfully dressed Mayan street vendors are now windows into a depressingly impoverished existence. In short, cobblestone streets have become simply bumpy, and picturesque beaches have been reduced to just a photo.

Besides being a bit jaded, what it really comes down to is we miss the family and friends that allow us to feel. We miss celebrating successes, supporting in hard times, and just some good old-fashioned hanging out with familiar faces. There! That is my entire case. I hope this blog doesn't burst the "Joe and Rachel are livin' the dream" bubble. And if it does just go ahead and write it off to the fact that Im lying in bed on the 3rd day of a seemingly undefeatable fever.

Oh yeah. These are a bunch of pictures of ruins and charming colonial cities in Mexico. You should visit them some day.

-JJ

Brudders, The Finale

2007-05-28T20:39:00.003-07:00

In no time at all, the brudders and countries of Central America are behind us. Our time together was sweet; a jam-packed tour of 3 countries and countless amazing natural and manmade wonders. With their all-too-soon departure came pangs of homesickness, and a new event to look forward to: home, or what we once knew as home.

Our journey took us to new regions of Guatemala, our self-proclaimed adventure-favorite for the budget traveler. Rio Dulce brimmed with riverside culture, from lilypads to hippies to boys in ancient canoes. The contrast between the full-speed booty dancin' yacht day-trippers and the Mayan family of six transported solely by cayuka is obvious, but somehow the two coexist in strange harmony.

We were all amazed by the miracle of El Finca Paraiso, a steaming hot-spring waterfall flowing into cool clean river waters. Nature's spa surpassed any manmade equivalent I have ever witnessed.

Onward we trekked to Tikal, a gem of Mayan ruins amid raw jungle wilderness. Our misty sunrise atop an ancient temple was surrounded by the amphitheater of jungle creatures awakening. Scenes of Apocalypto flashed through my head, but I was too tired after climbing hundreds of haphazard stairs to feel a real sense of horror. The tour left us hungry and exhausted, but completely satisfied after having witnessed the vast, beautiful accomplishments of an ancient civilization.

Nate and Spence's takeoff point was the last country in our Central American puzzle. Belize's large Black, Caribbean, and English-speaking population make it unique from the rest of the countries in the region. Not to mention the vast price increase. We sheltered in a hotel/casino, shying away from the shady streets of Belize City.

From there we said goodbye, or "Hey, see you later." Once again we are alone, missing everyone, and very happy to be back in Mexico enroute to the U.S. of A.

- Rach

p.s. Lecha, Muy Frijoles por favor.

Brudders, Part 1

2007-05-20T19:54:00.003-07:00

My apologies if this blog is under par; somehow the boombastic sounds of reggaeton echoing across our hostel walls isn't the most conducive to creative genius. Our hosts "forgot" to mention the nightly discoteca 20 feet from our room and their mission to share the gift that is reggaeton to all, at all hours of the night.

Those annoyances aside, we've been having an awesome time so far with my sibs. We've taken the time to study physics. Namely, we've tested the velocity of pier-jumping,

Buoyancy,

Balance,

And spatial relations between human bodies and bat caves.

It turns out that bats and humans can coexist, although preferably not. However, if you do need to squeeze your body into their evil lair, I would recommend crawling while covering your head with both hands and squeezing your eyes shut. This may scramble their sonar.

We've made our way quite a bit north, and have crossed back into Guatemala after a few days' journey to Utila in the Bay Islands of Honduras. These islands are a unique blend of Creole, Honduran, and black Caribbean. Most people on the island are speaking this crazy language that is supposed to be English, but sounds rarely decipherable and like everyones tongue have been dipped in molasses. Really interesting. There's a nice slow pace to life, and food portions that make it even more difficult to hustle.

Oh my goodness. Really, the beats, they just don't stop. I'll try to get some sleep.
- Rach

No more SNUBA for me, thank you very much!

2007-05-10T18:16:00.000-07:00

After a lifetime of unfullfilling underwater exploits, Rach and I decided that it was time to get serious and obtain the one final credential that single-handedly seperates the driven from the aimless wanderers. That's right, we are now PADI-certified openwater divers. Three gruelling days of strenous breathing mashed together with mind-numbing study of underwater physics, and we emerged from the deep blue as different people. On top of our overall heightened metaphysical awareness, we are also now equipped with the necessary skills to begin a life as treasure divers like Paul Walker and Jessica Alba. What was that movie about again... oh now I remember, irrelevance.

For those of you out there wondering if you have what it takes to be PADI open water divers I can only say... maybe. Do you have drive, the belief, the physical prowess... and most importanatly the couple hundred dollars it takes to prove to the world that you have your crap together? Time will tell. Time will tell.

We are now Carribeanning our way back North at a furios rate. Bocas Del Toro in Panama was our first taste of the distinct food, music, and laidbacked lifestyle that exists uninterupted just a few hundred miles away from the Pacific. Panama and Costa Rica both seem like entirely different countries on the East side of the continental divide.

- JJ

The Great Divide

2007-05-04T14:07:00.000-07:00

North. A direction we haven't touched in months. The symbolic direction of return, completion, Home. Touch base and go. We have dipped our toes (mentally) in the Panama Canal, the great manmade wonder and incredible halfway point of our Central American adventure. There is however, one catch.

Günther, our noble steed, limped his way inches from the finish line. Stuck on blocks, his wheel bearing broken, he sat one mere hour away from our southernmost point. Fate, nonetheless, would have us reach the Canal in a Westfalia regardless.

It turns out we were destined to meet our Canadian doppelgängers. Same car, same dream, even the same unwanted transitional lenses (Shades McSpecs lives again). Amazing. From Montreal to the Panama Canal, they traversed much of the same ground as us and in similar style.

Riding in the backseat of Jason and Marie Claire's white westy, we simultaneously reached our mutual turnaround point. The day was rainy and grey, the mood reflective. There was a sense of turning around, of having completed something. Even without our real ride, the geographical accomplishment of trekking from the heights of Alaska to the tip of the Panama Canal was profound.

We now look forward to bringing the journey full circle. With much of the Caribbean coast left to explore and my most favorite brothers in the world about to join us, the road home will hopefully be just as rewarding.

\

-Rach

Creature Comforts

2007-04-24T13:30:00.000-07:00

In the wake of our renewed solitude of two, our only solace has been to take comfort in Costa Rican wildlife; namely a tapir who goes by Charlie. This mischievous beast, attracted by the alluring scent of DEET insect repellant, followed us throughout the cloudforest in an attempt to wet his snout on our chemically-treated legs. Exhausted from all the snouting, Charlie quickly fell asleep in his favorite log.

Next, I met a friendly butterfly, name unknown. After practicing various butterfly calls and rubbing myself with overripe pineapple, I tempted this pretty Morpho to land on my finger. She perched for a bit, sprinkled me with magic butterfly dust, then took off in search of another flower.

A must-do in Costa Rica is ziplining. They build these huge zipline playgrounds, stringing high-tension wire from tree to tree high above the ground. Armed with "brakes" (aka leather patches glued to gardening gloves), we took turns soaring over treetops. It's the closest I've ever felt to flying.

Now we're surfing and camping in Mal Pais, or the Badlands. It truly is anything but, with its great morning surf, white beaches, and ample shade. No wonder the place is teeming with ex-pats hawking real estate. If we can manage to rip ourselves from this place, we can finally enter our last and final country, the Great Halfway Point, Panama.

- Rach

And Friends Are Friends Forever....

2007-04-18T06:29:00.000-07:00

Oh what a bitter world we live in. A cruel, twisted, spinning mass of molten where friends do nothing but leave. Just when everyone is beginning to have fun it's all swept away so suddenly by schedules and impending purchases of vet clinics. There were 9 days of passion with our dear amigos. We swam streams, surfed til Kev's rib cracked, hiked 'canos of liquid hot shmagma, and bathed in hot springs until all our parts looked old. And now, as quickly as our friends came, pretending to be companions, they are gone.

After a week of Nosaran monkeys and beach house bliss we took the windy road to the Volcan Arenal to get our jungle on. Our last few days were somewhere in between those movies about those blood diamonds, and the Jungle Cruise ride at Disneyland where they fire blanks at the mechanical hippo. It was the perfect cap to the trip as the girls & FB got their share of poolside papaya masques, and JR and I got to hike on a live volcano, drive cars thru rivers, and do other manly-type things that caused Kev (FB) to whimper in fright.

Our hotel here at Arenal also put the Nosara stay in perspective and we realized that brief power outages is hardly "roughing it" in comparison to dorm-style living in which your roommates are live bats. At least Kev and Molly have had their rabies vaccines and the bats ate most of the mosquitos in the room.

Once again Rachel and I are back to the core... the nucleus... the mitochondria... the endoplasmic reticulum... otherwise known as just the two of us. We have hit a critical point now where our friends' visits are a pendulum of joy and homesick depression. Perhaps the only solution is to have someone visit for different portions of the rest of the trip with us. On that note, Nathan and Spencer have already booked the Ruta Ruinas Tour, May 15- 24th, Teguchigalpa to Belize City. Any takers for a week or two before or after? It's first come first serve so book fast. I can guarantee monkeys.

Pura Vida, Baby.

2007-04-11T20:56:00.000-07:00

Costa Rica: a luscious land of adorable long-eared cows, iguanas, and howler monkeys whose cries echo like wild boar-dogs in the night. Right now we're sitting in air-conditioned comfort, a luxurious relief from the sweltering heat outside. The cast: our peeps from Columbus and Chicago, who narrowly escaped the wintry snowstorms of the midwest to reclaim the tans they once had.

With much relief, we crossed out of Nicaragua and entered a realm which we both agreed instantly felt "more safe." Despite the decrepit roads, the dense jungle/beach of Nosara is a place of unique beauty, a place where fireflies dance to the haunting chorus of wild night creatures.

So far, we've experienced the kindness of a local volkswagen kin, whose offering of a safe driveway to park in and dinner kept us happy in Tamarindo. We've crossed small rivers in Gunther, and built shady refuges out of driftwood and a Wuzzles sheet to save us from the brutal sun.

It's so awesome to meet up with friends, who can help us answer important life questions such as: "Which Costa Rican beer really is the best?" and "How do you pick a champion Hermit crab racer?" Our only regret is not all of our friends can be with us.

But there is an important lesson in all of this for the wise. Consider our friends Beth and Theo. Both young, able bodied, kind-spirited people that we don't get to see on this trip because they suffer from a case of bad priorities. Beth spent the entire year in cozy heated comfort, while reading US Weekly in every spare moment. One year and $843 in magazines later, she doesn't have the money to enjoy paradise with her friends.

And then there is Theo. Smart, handsome, with an intensive background in etiquette and ballroom dancing. What on earth could keep him away from a week in paradise with his friends? Thats right. Bad priorities. Apparently Theo thinks starting a new job is more important than try to figure out a 7th way to blend rum with tropical fruit. Obviously he has learned nothing from our example. It's a sad cautionary tale for young people everywhere.

One Week & Four Countries Later....

2007-04-05T11:07:00.000-07:00

The last week has been a cross-section of countries and cultures that reminded me a bit of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride... without that whole blowing up and burning in hell part. In a very short time we have travelled from the soul of Semana Santa in Antigua, to some great surf in El Salvador. From there we cleared the skinny Pacific tip of Honduras on our way to the still bullet-riddled buildings of Nicaragua. Since we've done a lot in a very short time I will leave you with a few tidbits from each country just in case you ever travel in this area.

Guatemala
If you come across to very nice ex-Pats that are now running a down-to-earth retreat in the mountains above Antigua, stay with them for a few days. As Martha Stewart would say, eating gourmet food all day, sweating like hogs in a wood-fire sauna, and hanging out with some friendly Aussies is "a good thing". Especially when you can gaze in wonder at not one, but two volcanoes, while flying like Peter Pan on their rad swing.

El Savador
They are winning. A great country that is surprisingly modern and fast becoming way more comfortable for tourists. There is great surf around El Tunco and the moon rising over volcanoes is just an added plus. BTW if you are on the beach at Zunsal make sure you do something crazy like attack driftwood on the beach. It ensures that no one drops in on you in the surprisingly crowded and rather cut throat breaks.

Honduras
Get out as fast as you can, but while you are there here's a few good tips. If a rotten corrupt cop tries to collect a "multa" (i.e. bribe) because you don't have a reflective triangle for an emergencies, it's best to politely argue for a while and then convince him that your pack of glow sticks is signal flares. However, if you are driving along close to sunset and a group of about 15 dudes dressed in robes and masks that look exactly like Tuscan Raiders (thats for you Jim) it's best to slam the brakes, assess the situation, and then floor it while pretending to run them over if they don't move.

Nicaragua
It's prolly best to avoid talking politics at all unless you lean lefter than left, or you happen to have Joel Woodman with you for backup.

But to get an interesting perspective visit the Museum of Legends and Torture. It's a fabulous collection of Nicaraguan mythology and first hand accounts of the tortures done to dissenters during the Somosa dictatorship. The combo creates an obscene pairing of murals of various acts of torture and strange legends such as the Single-Teated Mujer, Headless Padre, and the Haunted Ox Cart.

We are now in Granada, one of the few places in Nicaragua that seems to have made a considerable comeback since the Contra-era. It's straight up cozy colonialism with horse drawn carraiges, old churches, and $10 surf and turf. Up next, a few days of surf in the Nicaraguan beach breaks and then we meet up with old friends for a week in Nosara, Costa Rica. We can't wait to see some smiling friendly faces, and show off our impressively inadequate Espanol.

- JJ

Semana Santa

2007-03-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

After basking in the glow of our warmed egos, Joe and I were lucky enough to catch the beautiful city of Antigua, Guatemala, in the festivities leading up to its most beloved holiday: Easter, or Holy Week.

Every year, the people of Antigua perform backbreaking, elaborate, mind-blowing ceremonies deeply rooted in tradition. It goes a little something like this: First, people armed with scaffolding, colorfully dyed sawdust, stencils, and flowers decorate the cobblestone streets with vibrant 3D murals. They spend hours hovering over their labors of love, each group contributing their custom design until the streets are filled with color.

While the artists tend to their creations with fine spray bottle mists, commotion brews in the street. Oh, that's right, it's only about 200 men and women lugging around 700-pound reproductions of Jesus and Mary. They take shifts; swinging pails of incense, grunting under their burden, parading all throughout the city from 10am till 10pm. Slowly they trample each sacrificial piece of art, until the street is a ravaged mess of neon sawdust and foliage.

Insane as it seems, I really got caught up in the beauty of this tradition, as each volunteer seemed honored to be suffering under this huge weight. It meant so much more to us than many other commercialized US holidays, to see people putting their hearts and bodies into this symbolic act. That being said, beware your pockets, as Semana Santa is sadly the highest week for little rotten pickpocket hands (so we've heard).

- Rach

Dear Readers,

2007-03-26T21:56:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, our self-serving guilt trip successfully squeezed comments out of our loyal readers. You are the fattened calf from whose sweet bosom we drink.

Without you we are nothing but pictures and words.

Seriously though.

No really, it's freakin beautiful...You should care

2007-03-25T09:49:00.000-07:00

So we noticed from the depressingly low number of comments that my loyal sister Jaime seems to be the only person out there that cares about this blog anymore. Don´t get me wrong, I'm not bitter. It's natural that after a while sardonic musings about travels completely detached from reality would get rather boring. So as a result Rachel and I have decided to be lazy, post a few phots, and give all of our amazing handmade souvenirs to Jaime when we return.

Okay, since it's prolly necessary to offer an explanation of this I will break my self-imposed silence, but just this once. So in Guatemala they make these amazing moral lesson paintings aimed at scaring the masses into good submissive catholicism. Just remember, if you stray for a moment or become lazy with your faith, a gigantic snake or a wild-eyed knife-toting criminal will enter your home and put you to death. Beware!

Also of note is the Guatemalan idolization of Saints. Here a sculpture masterfully recounts the events of Saint Joe the Angry, after he mashed his head open with a golf putter. Stirring, isn't it?

Guat chu talkin' bout Willis

2007-03-18T20:40:00.000-07:00

When traveling a considerable distance, especially by car, there is a tangible ebb and flow. After a few months, you realize it's foolish to struggle to maintain a schedule. Once you relax and travel on a whim, you find yourself exactly where you need to be. A cult hero of the Mexico traveling circuit refers to this principle with the anecdote, "Wherever you go, there you are." Reading this before the trip didn't make much sense, as the author knowingly refused to explain his mantra. While annoying at first, it now seems the only way to describe a journey routed in the unpredictable.

Once well-reacquainted with our friend the ocean, Rachel and I made a beeline for the Guatemalan border. After 5 weeks we both felt it was time for somewhere fresh. Somewhere cooler. Somewhere we might find the unexpected. We flew through Southern Oaxaca and Chiapas, then abruptly were faced with the most obscene border crossing on the planet. I'll save the painful details, but the simplest way to describe importing a vehicle into Guatemala is that there are 20 unofficials with home-printed badges for every actual official. You never really quite know who's legit, and $15 either means that your vehicle skates through uninspected, or that you don't get through till sundown. If the Guatemala border says one thing, it's that everything can and will be bought... failure to do so will result in a complete breakdown of Guatemalan society.

All corruption aside, we're now in one of the most beautiful places on earth, Lago de Atitlan. For those not familiar it's basically a massive lake built from and surrounded by 3 semi-active volcanoes. Apparently the hippies think it's the freakin' cosmic center of the universe because it puts Paia to shame. To top things off, the gringo hippies are catered to by eager, conservative Protestant Guatemalans, who offer horse rides, boat tours, aguardiente (quite literally "firewater"), and ridiculous amounts of Devil Weed. Kinda weird irony, don't you think?

Rounding out the whole scene out is the massive indigenous Mayan community around the lake. Within 20 minutes of arriving to San Pedro la Laguna (our home for a week), you will see a brilliantly dressed group of hardworking Mayans balancing sacks of coffee, firewood, and textiles on their heads to the market. Unfortunately, you will also see the apathetic old Mayan lady instantly don a downtrodden victim frown for each tourist that steps off the boat. As she begs for just one Quetzal (about 18 cents), she keeps a watchful eye on her granddaughter to whom she is teaching that art of the panhandle instead of having her attend school.

With all its brazen contradiction, Guatemala is the most interesting place I have been yet on the trip. The natural beauty of the highlands is only trumped by the rich culture of the people that call it home. Rachel and I begin Spanish classes tomorrow and can't wait to be able to interact with the people here more. Although the US dollar ain't what it used to be, just 10 of them will buy you a clean hotel room with this view of the lake from your deck. And ever since we realized that 2 people can live in this hotel, eating every delicious meal out, for under $50 a day, it will be very hard to leave Lago de Atitlan.

The Great Adventure of our Secret Spot

2007-03-13T18:20:00.000-07:00

After a few days of attempting to surf the crowded breaks of Puerto Escondido, Joe and I grew weary for a place to call our own. We headed off on a tip from a friendly Kiwi surfer, and found ourselves in a strange land where raccoons and anteaters lived restlessly as leashed pets.

We began our journey at sunrise, loaded into a crowded motor boat, and jet across a tranquil lagoon lined with mangroves. From there we squeezed into homemade seats in the back of a truck, and held on for dear life to the little old lady on the end with her bowl of tomatoes. Along the way, hot fresh tortillas were delivered and the man with the broken machete and a slingshot climbed aboard.

An hour later we reached our destination: an empty beach lined with palapas and beautiful empty rights peeling before our eyes. Not a soul was out. We surfed to our heart's content for two days, till our arms were ready to fall off, often with just the two of us. Paradise! Our boat driver agreed to pick us up that afternoon, which in Mexican time actually means 11:00 the following day.

All was magic till this morning, as the swell picked up and we took off on waves bigger than we had seen in years. From my vantage point I watched Joe duck under a huge one, emerging on the other side, while half his board went flying to shore among the froth. His board died a valiant death, and shall be reborn someday under the hands of the Mexican we sold the corpse to for $10.

- Rach
P.S. No animals were injured in the making of this blog.

Killer Ray... or How to Avoid a Stingray Attack

2007-03-08T08:06:00.000-08:00

1. Use extreme caution when entering the ocean. Shuffle your feet slowly along the sandy bottom to alert stingrays of your presence. Take small steps.
2. Do not wear khaki cut-offs and attempt to hug them. Crikey.
3. Do NOT, under any circumstances, prance around like a carefree young billy goat when exiting the water. To do so may result in pouncing on an unsuspecting demon ray, who will in turn unleash the wrath of a thousand banshees upon your ankle, filling you with poison and bloodying up your leg.

Ouch. The only good thing about the whole experience was the medical treatment. Within 10 minutes of walking into a pharmacy, an English-speaking doctor had already cleaned my wound, shot me up with anesthesia, and prescribed for me an antibiotic. Wow. I was amazed at the efficiency, casualness, and lack of any type of hassle or paperwork. Way to go, farmacia.

The little stingray that could issued a warm welcome to Joe and I to Puerto Escondido, home of the world-famous "Mexican Pipeline." The cozy factor is high, and we hope to spend the week seeking out surf breaks that won't kill us. We miss our buddies, but also look forward to new adventures in the state of Oaxaca.

P.S. When did Jesus join forces with Lion King?

-Rach

House of Waves

2007-03-04T13:38:00.000-08:00

If you are wondering why you haven't heard from us a while it's probably because I am sitting on the back porch of La Casa De Olas, enjoying an obscenely serene view. After a week of nothing but surfing, eating, drinking, and being merry with good friends its hard to get back in the blogging mood.

After a furious pace to meet up with Matt & Margaret in Ixtapa, we've done nothing but live the good life. Our house is in Saladita, a small village that serves as a revolving door for gringos looking for an organic transition to the surfing alter-ego they wish they had spent more time with. Basically it's one happy family and we are the distant relatives that made themselves right at home.

Besides the great waves, Saladita is a refreshingly guilt-free example of how the tourism business can be operated in a way that actually benefits the local community. As opposed to the countless FUNATUR resorts, (aka the Mexican government's version of progress) the money gringos bring in stays local. There are no obnoxious resorts with overpriced worthless trinkets. Instead, there is just the amazing toothless lady who we buy 4 insanely fresh chickens from, which she uses to....well, probably buy more delicious chickens. Without boring you with seemingly irrelevant Mexican politics, all I have to say is... the less time you spend in mega-resorts in Mexico, the more you improve the quality of life of Mexicans.

Aside from my political rantings the standout of the trip have been the amazing way in which Rachel and I were welcomed by the great people here. We had the comfort of surfing with our old friends Marge and Matt; but also got to meet the raddest family of triplets out there. Shake and bake to Paulina, Mike, Emma and the 2 Chris'.

Now that most of the crew has left it feels very strange to be left on our own again. After over 7 months on the road it makes me realize that there is nothing more enjoyable that sharing time with friends and family. Tomorrow we will become loners again, if only for a few more months.

-JJ

Paint: Mexico's Favorite Color

2007-02-24T08:06:00.000-08:00

Crossing over the Sea of Cortez has introduced us to a Mexico even more vibrant with culture and scenery, along with my quarter-century notch. It's strange passing into the title of mid-20s without sharing a birthday cake with my lil bro and easy access to a phone connected to loved ones, thanks everyone for the well wishes.

A rigorous driving schedule partnered with smooth, multi-laned toll highways has delivered us to Puerto Vallarta, our pockets over $40 lighter with tolls (yikes). We've crossed into beautiful tropical jungles, as well as a plethora of tourist havens. Gringos seem to flock to all the same areas, for good reason as the beaches are pristine and the scenery is stupid pretty. Unfortunately the culture feels watered down with the addition of each sunburned belly peeking out beneath a wildly patterned parrot shirt. Reading signs in English again feels unusual, although our Spanish capability still feels like we're driving through sticky mud with wheels of wooden cogs.

Soaking in the colors and overall feel of our surroundings has been a pleasure. Mexico has so much to offer in the vibrancy of their landscape, and with the many coats of brightly colored paint over everything, tombstones and trees included. I love the unexpected colonial feel of the towns, as well as the intrigue of every dusty little pocket town lining the roads. Now if I could just work on that Spanish.

-Rach

Carnival Meat

2007-02-18T10:35:00.000-08:00

In a few hours we will embark on our 20-hour ferry ride from the beautiful city of La Paz to mainland Mexico. We lucked out and caught the city at the perfect time, right in the midst of their colorful and strange Carnival.

We spent two nights bumbling along, shoulder-to-shoulder among thousands of people young and old. Among the sea of cowboy hats, men and women burst into spontaneous dance, peddled goods, and feasted on pastry delights and strung-up meats.

We dodged drunkards wielding chili-rimmed styrofoam cups, blasted our eardrums with blaring speakers, and watched with bizarre fascination as blanket salesman spasmodically auctioned while folding and unfolding giant blankets decorated with tigers, eagles, and large mythical beasts. Needless to say, it was a good time.

Now we can leave with a vague sense of accomplishment after exploring the entire Baja penisula, coast to coast, norte to sur. What a beautiful chunk of land. However, I do look forward to greenery, and a relief from wiping down Guntero's formaica'd surfaces with their daily fresh coat of desert dust.

-Rach

Great Waves and the Great Caravan Breakup

2007-02-13T14:47:00.000-08:00

After weeks of sunny flat beaches on the Sea of Cortez, we finally found some waves. We've been squatting (quite literally) at an abandoned RV Park just south of Todos Santos for the past five days. Apparently the once plush beachside San Pedrito has been pummeled in the last three hurricanes and is now all but abandoned. We bumped down the washboard side road to find about 10-20 gringos enjoying the beachfront camping at a top notch break. Some of the campers have apparently been living there for months, drunk all day and playing the world's longest bacci ball tournament. The stay has been filled with great surf, big BBQs, raging bonfires, and some mindblowing sunsets. This is the first stop that feels as good as I imagined the trip to be.

Did I mention that there were some good waves.

Rachel finally got a chance to try out her new beautiful longboard, and we both got the cobwebs out of our shoulders. It's amazing how much of your paddle you can lose with 6 months of no surfing.

Getting to Todos Santos was a significant accomplishment for us, as we have finally hit The Tropics. The water is getting warmer and my belly is only getting a little larger. The town itself is a kinda weird Gringo settlement in the middle of Baja. The bars and hotels are named after Eagles songs and the place is teeming with well-off Hip-a-Yuppies. This means that basically every artist and artisan has moved out to Todos to fill up the Gringos' second homes with some of the nicest folk art I have seen yet in Baja. But the nicest thing about Todos is its natural beauty.

So Todos Santos was pretty much feeling like total paradise, until a cruel twist of fate brought an end to our caravan. Apparently not everyone was fond of us squatters. Someone appears to have dumped sugar into the gas cans of our caravan buddies, Chris and Tyler, taking out their dirtbikes. The end result was a rather frustrating early departure for the boys from Orcas Island. It was an enjoyable and unexpected experience meeting and hanging out with them for this much of the trip. They will be missed.

After this refreshing stop we are now headed down to Cabo to dip a toe in the overcrowded waters. After that it's back to La Paz to catch a boat to the mainland. We will miss Baja but we are both looking forward to some fresh culture, climate, and comida on the mainland.

- JJ

CaraVANning is Fun

2007-02-07T08:06:00.000-08:00

At last, Guntero has made some amigos. His new pals include Chris and his dirtbike-toting Biodiesel van, whose engine requires the use of a crank to start up, and Tyler, with his sleek Tacoma camper complete with aquatic toys. They go everywhere together, those three. Bumper to bumper they've worked their way down the coast of the Sea of Cortez, languidly settling on sandy beaches for the night, while their owners relaxed in the peace of having their own entourage.

They ventured to Ojo de Liebre, famous for its grey whale mamas and babies. You can take a small fishing boat out for a mere 30 bucks a person, and get within 5 feet of the underwater behemoths. A very cool way to spend the afternoon: chasing undulating grey mottled backs and tails, until you are too annoying and they dive away from you.

It's always good to have friends with special talents.

We head further south, amid schools of leathery retired motor homers. We long to see unvisored faces. Beaches are picture perfect pristine, the water is cold, and we are still aching to get some surf. But for now, some coronas, mescal, and tacos will fill the void.

In the Desert, You can't remember your name

2007-01-29T16:58:00.000-08:00

After all the anticipation, master planning, and wild last-minute weapon stashes, we finally are lucky enough to experience the "Real Mexico." Layers of sandy dust now coat everything we own, thus christening Guntero as Baja-worthy. Amid the saggy chi-chi dogs (don't pet them), cowboys on ATVs, and dusty children on bikes there lies a surprising diversity in both the landscape and people of Baja.

There seems to be a double existence here. The majority of people cling to the cities in a desperate attempt to catch up with the modern world. On the other hand, there are the traditionalists (i.e. farmers, ranchers and fishermen) who seem very content doing what their parents did before them. Anyone who has ever been to Tijuana or Ensenada knows which group fares better down here. With each city, we leave in semi-disgust, and within an hour we find a quaint, friendly people enjoying the natural beauty offered by this country.

As the cities have had little appeal to us, we've been relaxing in some of the best campsites I've ever been to... for about $5 a night. So far I'm surprised daily at how enjoyable the country is outside of the cities and cinder-tarp sprawl. In just six days we've camped on cliffs over the sea (unfortunately with little to no surf), sat around a campfire drinking Tecate in the desert highlands, paddled around on ocean kayaks, and hiked through a desert that blows away any I've seen in the States. Everyone we meet heading North gets us excited about the amazing cities to look forward to on the Sea of Cortez. For now we will continue to make out with mother nature, safely nestled in our metal tent.

We are now in Guerrero Negro, the first city in the state of Baja California Sur. We plan to try and pet some Grey Whales, drink some more beer with our newfound psuedo-caravan friends Chris and Tyler, and find some surf. On an endnote, Rachel cut her thumb, resulting in a very eerie scab resembling Mexico.

-JJ

Pimp My Ride - Edicion Mexicano

2007-01-23T18:37:00.000-08:00

After enjoying the splendor of Los Angeles for almost a month we decided it was due time to hit the road for our adventures south of the border. But any fool can just take off for Mexico without thinking twice about it. Thats not how we roll. We figured that since every person we love has expressed fear for our well being that we needed to take matters into our own hands and give Guntero (aka Guillermo) his full inspector gadget treatment.

First we began with the cosmetic. To blend in with the surroundings, thereby lowering our "rob me, I'm a stupid gringo" factor, we strapped decaying board bags and a second spare tire to the roof. The end result is one step closer to "Baja Bus" status.

Secondly we addressed comfort. The deserts and jungles of Central America are hardly comparable to the icy Alaskan tundra so we added our own Mexico version of air conditioning. Yes, it's an oscillating fan which we screwed to the ashtray. Simple but effective. I can already feel the sweat disappearing.

Steps 3,4,5...safety, safety, safety. First we rigged up the fish bat by the sliding door for all bludgeoning needs. (*idea courtesy of Jim Abraham)

See this harmless lil pen?

That's right you dont see it cause your eyes are burning from the pepper spray.

And finally, what could be better than the last resort knife strapped under our kitchen table. This is all Rachel by the way. I'm not picking a fight with anybody armed with a butter knife in hand. I'll stick to my hatchet, bat, and tear gas. In case you are wondering why we need all these weapons...to smuggle copious amounts of prescription drugs used to cure everything from "travelers diarrhea" to malaria. And where do we keep our valuable cargo you ask?

Where else except for our new secret compartment that we built under the back seat and covered with a nice inconspicuous carpet.

When doing all of these modifications its amazing what you can find in a 20 year old vehicle. That's right (see blog entry "pork paw and the hairy vents") Same hair, but for some reason it doesnt bother me so much this time. I think were finally ready to live la vida loca...without the vinyl pants and shaved chest.

Tomorrow is the big day, we'll be driving across the border from San Diego. Thanks everyone for all the well-wishing!

Who's Exciiiiited?

2007-01-13T12:21:00.000-08:00

Typhoid live culture pills? Check. Arm-breaking tetanus shots? Check. Malaria Medication? Check...

We are within reach of being road-ready for the next portion of our adventure. Nauseating vaccinations coupled with another barrage of car "improvements" leave us gouged and almost ready for life on the road once again. Our plan? To drive as far as the Panama Canal and back. We will venture down Baja, take a ferry to mainland Mexico, and drive down the Pacific Coast through Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama. We plan to hit the Carribean side on the way back, spending time in Honduras and Belize before our round trip through Mexico. On the agenda is learning Spanish via an immersion program, surfing, diving, and general exploration while being drenched in 40% Deet mosquito repellant and 50 spf sunscreen.

We will be updating the blog as often as we can, even if it's just to say, we are OK and haven't encountered any flesh-craving jaguars as of yet. I have visions of us reenacting scenes from Apocalypto amid Mayan ruins while befriending spider monkeys (except for the Rabies part, oh, and the Head Rolling part) and surfing perfect rights with not a soul in sight. When I try to wrap my head around this trip I almost feel overwhelmed, then I remember: we have already conquered double the ground during our North America shenanigans. We are road-seasoned, one with He who is Günther. Or, should we change it to Guntero? Ahead lies even more adventure to be excited and exhilerated by, and I can't wait for us to live it.

Please check out the links on the top right: People's Guide to Mexico and Drive Me Loco, for info on the trip by weathered experts. Our departure date is sometime next week, please keep in touch with us and always feel free to comment on the blog by clicking the "comments" link on the bottom of each entry.

Hasta luego,
Rach & Joe

Post-Holiday Love

2007-01-01T17:28:00.000-08:00

For those of you who have wondered whether we secretly settled in Austin to become dishwashers at the Salt Lick, the answer is no. Since our last entry, we've washed the bbq sauce off our grubby chins (yes, I think I may have gained another after Southern eatin') and headed West. The last two weeks have been an absolute whirlwind: driving back to Los Angeles, a snowy Christmas family vacation in Whistler, all while cramming in some of the most beautiful sights on the trip thus far.

Here's a photo recap of the frantic jam-packed drive home. My Grandma Jeanne in Lubbock, TX, a true Texan through and through. Lubbock: home of big hair, Tex-Mex, and cheerleaders.

Heading north through Amarillo, we made it just in time for sunset at Cadillac Ranch. We sprinted through the cowpies and helped ourselves to the leftover spraycans for some interactive art/vandalism.

Santa Fe: the air there felt cleaner than any I'd ever breathed, as the scenery blended into memories of creamy Georgia O'Keefe paintings. Such a beautiful area, with colors that got stuck on my mind.

What a better way to end the trip than with our nation's Grandest Canyon. Sunrise in the freezing cold rewarded us with a view that baffled me, as it seemed impossible to exist. My brain hurt just looking out over the southern rim, struggling to comprehend a landscape so immense and ridiculously pretty. As the sky brightened we did a driving tour, taking a meelion pictures at every stop in my PJ's. Having visited a handful of national parks along the trip, it really just blows me away to think of what an amazingly beautiful country we have. I had no idea how many natural wonders were in my own backyard.

Walnut Canyon is another national park near the GC that I would highly recommend. The Sinagua Indians built these amazing cave dwellings in the cliffsides and you can do a hike around thier 12th century homes. Pretty crazy. You can still see fingerprints in the clay they used to build the walls and black marks from their fires.

So, there you have it, the story of how we made it full circle to Los Angeles. Driving the final stretch along the I-10 was very strange, especially once scenery became familiar in Indio. When we turned left onto my home street I felt displaced, almost like I was watching myself doing something from a different time. Not in a bad way, just strange. Memories came back to me of the day we left 5 months ago, along this same street with our sparkling clean Günther and heads full of expectations. Fortunatately, we won't have to revert to nostalgia as this is merely a break point in our adventure.

For the next few weeks we will continue our research and preparation for the Central America portion of our trip. We plan to continue with our journey in an educated and careful fashion, with thanks to all those who have expressed concern for our safety. We'll keep everyone updated, and give us a shout if you are in town and want to see us.

-Rachel

I went down to the crossroads...and kept driving

2006-12-13T00:09:00.000-08:00

We are in full flight home for the holidays. Rachel and I will be back in Los Angeles to catch a flight to Canada for Christmas. On a side note, does anyone out there actually get excited about Christmas? I don't want to sound like bitter guy but I am finding it hard to work up excitement for a holiday with such lame music, the worst movies ever, ridiculous commercial overtones and expectations, and food that's only half as good as Thanksgiving. It's a wonder it's even considered the grandaddy of holidays. Although I am really looking forward to seeing my family.

Over the last week we shot all the way from Charleston to Austin. With stops along the way in Atlanta, Nashville, Memphis, Clarksdale, Vicksburg, and New Orleans it's been a jambalaya of blues, Beale St, battlegrounds, Broadway, bars, bluegrass, BBQ, Bourbon St, and beinets. Mmm beinets!!!

Above all the last week has been a drive through the American music heartland. After the LaScala's graciously took us in in Atlanta, we cruised through the home of 3 of the most profound American musical genres. There was Country and pulled pork to be had in Nashville; a ramble through Blues country on Mississippi's Highway 61; and dudes with horns making the devil's music in Nawlins' (although some say Kenny G invented jazz).

All of the styles hit a convergence in Memphis where we paid tribute to the original genre-fuser. No, I'm not talking about Isaac Hayes. I am referring our trip to Greaceland to pay tribute to the king. Graceland's portrait of Elvis was fascinating because it doesn't discriminate between the classy, all American Elvis, and the sleazy, shag carpet sealing, sweaty Elvis. It simply honors him for what he was: A talented man with good intentions and a terrible sense of fashion.

Outside of our musical exploit,s the highlights of the last leg were roaming the swampy street of New Orleans, and staying in our first splurged hotel room in Vicksburg.

After a ridiculous dinner of BBQ at the Salt Lick, and a sweet stay the Isaak Castle in Austin, we are heading across Texas for Lubbock, Santa Fe, the Grand Canyon, on our way back to good ole' LA.
-JJ

The South Will Rise Again

2006-12-05T14:49:00.000-08:00

In the words of the Southern White Supremecist, Vice President, and Senator John C. Calhoun, "The surrender of life is nothing to sinking down into acknowledgment of inferiority." These sentiments have resonated all the way from the lyrics of Lynyrd Skynyrd to the modern caste system of Charleston. What does all this mean to us as freedom loving Americans? It means that Southern roots run awwwwfully deep, and though the South may have lost, they ain't about to admit defeat. And without the fact that slavery is morally reprehensible in every way, it's hard to argue with the Southern lifestyle. Anyone who's quick to think that Southerners are backwoods bumpkins have obviously never been to Charleston, South Carolina.

With visions of magnolias and Spanish moss in our heads we proceeded to roam through "the Lowlans" while sippin mint juleps and perfecting our distinguished southern snarl. We were blessed with a refreshing break at the Evangelista's Virginia spread, complete with Boggle, Beaches, Bullets, Bocce, and Bella.

Any visit to the Virginia Beach wouldn't be complete without seeing Drew. Here he offers his mug to an inspirational WWII poster.

Plantation life was followed by our own "March to the Sea" (see US History/Civil War/Sherman) straight thru Charleston, all the way to Savannah, GA. Tara may have burned but I'll be damned if ole Dixie ain't still alive in some of the purtiest places in the US. Foggy graveyards, classsic architecture, and jovial folk paved the cobblestone riverside streets.

Of all the comforts of the South, none even came close to Jestine's sumptuous soulfood in Charleston. We ate fried chicken, collard greens, fried okra, crabcakes and the best fried green tomatoes and coconut creme pie I will ever have in my life. The food was so good it would even make Kathy Bates eat her heart out....after she finishes her side of hog.

Oh yeah and Rachel would kill me if I didnt give a shout out to Chewy, the raddest kitty cat in Wilmington.

-JJ

Moments with Statues

2006-11-27T08:17:00.000-08:00

At the risk of blasphemy, I won't describe how much of a disappointment my cheesesteak was from a reputable sandwich joint on South Street in Philly. Instead, I will say the presentation was immaculate, the chefs intimidating, and the meat slicer the shinyest. Way to go, Philly cheesesteak. Stay bland.

Our afternoon in Philly was dripping with history, which was actually pretty cool. We missed out on the Rocky steps, ogled the bell, and made friends with statues. Did you know that the horses on the streets of Philly have their very own poo-bags? I may be dense, but they were the first I had ever noticed: canvas slung beneath horsebums, heavily drooping with deposit. Brilliant.

A quick stop in Baltimore was rewarded with some really, really cute cousins. Lauren's favorite animal is a lion, rivaled closely by the giraffe. However, if you tell her playfully that you are going to capture her and send her to live with the giraffes, she will cry, so don't do that.

We spent an afternoon at the Capitol.

What can I say? I was impressed with the grand scale of everything, the beautiful structures and honorable monuments. It's larger-than-life and powerful, makes you feel proud of our country. Seeing the actual documents on which our nation is founded filled us with awe.

Then, somewhere after the Lincoln memorial and during FDR's, it hits you: where is that greatness today? Where are the leaders that managed our country's most difficult moments with honor, poise, and respect for both past and future generations? We asked ourselves these questions and were left with one simple bumper sticker: "Worst President Ever." Joe also decided that he is gonna run for President one day when he grows up.

For Thanksgiving, we headed to the hills of West Virginny, to meet up with Joe's sis and family. The snow left something to be desired at 4", but had no affect on the celebratory grand feasts of feasts. I love food, so much. We ate until our bellies ached, and had food left for 10. Then we watched a re-enactment of people getting eaten by sharks on Discovery channel and I had nightmares.

I found this freezing immigrant child on the slopes of Snowshoe, and quickly resuscitated her with some brandy.

Next on our agenda is exploring the South, I can't wait.
-Rach

I Heart NY

2006-11-20T14:04:00.000-08:00

We spent several days resting, knitting, and vegging on Joe's family friends' farm. Totally comfortable and satisfying, good food and company.

Falling a bit behind, here are some pics from NY:

Ground Zero

This Man Likes This Painting.

Don't Ask, Because I'm Not Sure.

Central Park.

Chinatown.

Some Buddies.

I just loved the entire vibe of being in the city. Everything really does live up to its much-hyped and oversaturated status both visually and environmentally: the Park, the Met, Broadway, Bagels, 5th Ave Window Displays, Everything. It just feels like living, breathing art. We had only a few short days, but I loved (almost) every moment. (The exceptions being getting lost on the subway at 2am and feeling like my feet were going to fall off). We crammed so many things into 4 days, I'll give you a few highlights.

Les Misarables. Just finished reading it 2 months ago, and was in heaven with our 50% off tickets and my hero, Jean valJean, come to life. Really amazing. Awesome stage set, beautiful bold colors, drama... lots of singing. My only question being do they really need to sing EVERY syllable? I'm okay with it, merely posing the question.

Met + MoMa. Okay, you can spend dayyyssss in these museums. Aside from being completely overwhelmed, I tried to cram as much detail as possible into my head, from the most ornate piece of jewelry you have ever seen on the butt of a gun, to what seems like every painting you studied in art school. It was absolutely astonishing. I loved seeing art that actually makes your skin tingle. My favorite in person, though I'd seen it in print a million times: Andrew Wyeth's Christana's World. Ooooh and this really pretty Dali diorama painted on glass.

Central Park. Sure, it's expected, but for good reason! You can seriously wander around for hours, I love it. The fall colors were out, along with the fat-bellied squirells and super cute ice skating rink. Why doesn't LA have anything half this decent? Griffith Park, yah, it's so central. Then again, LA isn't really a city.

So far I think NY is one of the top places we could see ourselves living someday. Hope everyone had a cozy thanksgiving.
-Rach

We Forted

2006-11-13T13:22:00.000-08:00

So even though we may have missed the major fall, New England is still co-ho-zy. Old misty forts, historical seaside villages, brick buildings galore, and a few colorful leaves dangling here and there have fulfilled my longing for a taste of the east coast. At the moment I'm sitting next to a huge hissing fire with a snuggly brown dog at my side, content, clean, and still happy to be living in a van.

I hit a point in Montreal where not showering for 5 days and sleeping in an unheated box in 30º weather did not seem so fun anymore. Baby wipes can only take you so far, and sometimes a girl needs to wash her hair just to stay sane. But thanks to Bally's Total Fitness for a "trial day," we left squeaky clean and headed toward the warmer coastal towns.

Both of our moods brightened with beautiful sunny days in Boston and Cape Cod, where we traipsed about Hah-vad and looked at maybe 1000 of Paul Revere's landmarks (oh, and this is where he stubbed his toe, and this is where he buried a dog once). One of the beauties of the east coast is driving time: a couple hours and you're in an entirely new state. The only downfall being Joe's accents, which have to change with each new surrounding. Luckily, we just got out of the "Kennedy" phase (aka Mayor Quimby).

Next up: probably THE most anticipated stop on the trip for me.... NY, NY
-Rach

Of Montreal, Buckeye Country, and Chicago

2006-11-07T09:04:00.000-08:00

At last we made it to the elusive Eastern time zone, only about a month late. With stops along the way in Chicago, South Bend, Columbus, Niagara Falls, and Montreal we are now residing in rather cozy Portland, Maine. With so much to cover (and who couldn't talk about Columbus for days) I will stick to the highlights.

CHICAGO
We had an awesome time hanging around with old friends and family for the weekend. The stay was packed full with drinks, dinner, more drinks, a Bulls game, cousins and babies, a chimp attack at Lincoln Park Zoo, and a funny night out at Second City. We were so impressed with the city, we even took an architecture tour by boat along the Chicago River. It's a great way to marvel at the impressive sprawl that would never have existed if we didn't decide to build a canal somewhere in NY (or was it Pennsylvania) about 150 years ago.

FUN FACT:
Millennium Park is now home to the sculpture that is affectionately referred to as "The Bean". This sleek silvery blob is the perfect compliment to the Frank Gehry designed ampitheatre next door.

COLUMBUS, OHIO
If you ever want to watch 15 football games in one weekend, go to Columbus. Sure you can catch 15 games in any U.S. city, but Columbus is the only place where there is absolutely nothing better to do. Okay I'll stop with the C-Bus cheap shots. It's a great place to raise a family or go to Vet school. Again Rachel and I got to see old friends and cousins, along with the Minnesota Golden Gophers being destroyed in the heart of the Horseshoe. For those who haven't been to Ohio State, it is college football fanaticism at its finest. If Jack Nicholaus decided to create a one-world government he would have 300,000 troops ready to die for his cause in that town alone. Now that my Trojans have fallen I guess I have to give it to the Bucks.

FUN FACT:
While German Shepherds may have a nasty reputation as "cop dogs" they are actually some of the most loyal, loving animals anywhere. Especially when their master is a cop. (Thanks Wade).

NIAGARA FALLS
There is a lot of water, and it is falling. Rachel and I spent the night living it up on the Canadian side. Breath-taking Natural Wonder + Über Tacky Intrusive Mini Vegas = Niagara Falls, Canada. We took the casinos for like $12....I mean 12$CA.

FUN FACT:
Buffalo, NY is actually more bleak than its portrayal in Buffalo 66.

MONTREAL
Why didn't I come here sooner? Its basically a slightly colder version of Paris without all the a-holes. Again the architecture and culture have been most impressive. One walk around the Plateau Mont Royal (the neighborhood we are squatting in) and you'll pass Thai, Indian, Vietnamese, French, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, Cuban, Japanese, Chinese, and Borsch restaurants. While the options are endless, sadly, it also makes me realize how much more fun big cities are when money is not an issue. Hopefully this reality won't completely break my bohemian spirit when it's driven home next week in New York.

FUN FACT:
Some of the original settlers of Quebec powered their rotisserie ovens by placing their pet dog in a contraption resembling a dog-sized hamster wheel.

-JJ

Oddities and Animals

2006-10-25T17:39:00.000-07:00

Readers, beware. Some content may be offensive to the following: PETA members, vegans, and cute animal lovers. This special posting is dedicated to the countless creatures who have lost their lives and now permanently reside in Madison, Wisconsin. Though it is a tragedy, we must honor their memories with a photo homage.

Yes, it's real. An all-inclusive taxidermy museum located in the basement of a secret reputable business. By far one of the weirdest things I've ever seen... but also, the best.

We got the tip from a friend in Minnesota, a Wisconsin native.

Yee-ha.

They had it all. Albino squirells, chipmunks stripping, bodiless mounted heads of large beasts. Their faces frozen in an eternal expression of sadness... or buried in the mouth of a frosted mug.

I'm not going to say I'm a fan of killing cute critters, but this was just something we had to see. Well worth the detour.

Another stop on the way to Chicago was this amazing sculpture park, made entirely of recycled junk by an artist known as "Dr. Evermor." Strange rusty beings lined the side of highway, beckoning even the most hurried passer-bys.

Such beautiful junk, looming high overhead. A symphony of rusted brass orchestra peacocks sat alongside his masterwork, "The Forevertron." Free to the public, and reminiscent of City of Lost Children.

Once we arrived in the great city of Chicago, our gracious host JR took us to the local zoo (also free to the public). There we saw lions, camels, bears, oh, and chimps brutally murdering an innocent fluffy bunny.

Right in front of our eyes, the brutal mob of five swollen-butt chimps proceeded to spot a stray wandering bunny, chase it against a log, catch it, snap its neck, hoot with glee, murder it, then torture the pitiful corpse. It's nature, and it's real. Welcome to the jungle. Or the zoo.

P.S. We love Chicago!

-Rach

Great Plains Pics

2006-10-21T16:26:00.000-07:00

Wyoming Ponies

Our Great Nation's Monument

Jewel Cave in the Black Hills of South Dakota

Rachel's Cousin Kathy & Her Family

That's some liquid hot magma...eh Boo Boo

2006-10-19T21:43:00.000-07:00

We haven't talked in a while. Currently we're in Minneapolis and about to depart for Chicago tomorrow. For those that thought we were living permanently in a shack in Alaska, let me catch you up. We took a 4 day ferry from Haines, AK to Seattle. After taking gunther into a specialist, we finally caught a break and he had the rotten thing fixed in about an hour. Elated with the clean bill of health, we took off east in hopes of making up for lost time and getting through The Great Plains before serious weather.

We made the most out of the frantic pace by stopping in rugged Montana for a visit with the Rachel's cousins, the Tomlinsons. We drove through of the most serene landscapes of the trip in the Shoshone mountains of Wyoming, full of ponies. We spelunked in a big cave full of gems in the Black Hills. And finally, we patriotically gazed at Mt Rushmore...which is basically the only reason to ever go through South Dakota.

But of all the stops, nothing compared to Yellowstone Nat'l Park. Regardless of the Old Faithful hype, it's a genuine spectacle of geothermal activity and the most unique nature I have yet to see in this country. We froze our butts off in the snow at each stop just to get a few more glipses at divine art being continually sculpted in nature. Oh and the tatonka are preety rad too. Here are a few photos since I'm really not sure how to describe the place. Enjoy. - JJ

Wild Beasts of the Wild Wilderness

2006-10-11T14:00:00.000-07:00

On our very last day in Alaska I wanted to take one more shot at fishing. We had gone countless times, without a whopper salmon of success. When the alarm went off at 8am, Joe refused to get up. So I took the canoe out solo, without much hope in my heart.

Then I got a bite. A really, really, strong fish was tugging at my line. I tried to reel him in, then my heart started pounding when he got near the surface because this guy was HUUUGE. There I was, floating in the canoe, literally being pulled around in circles. This went on for about ten minutes. Some guys on the docks nearby started laughing and watching, me not knowing what to do as I spun around. Finally I managed to paddle over to the docks with one hand, where a fisherman helped me net the salmon. Success! My very first fish! I paddled away and plotted on slipping the fish next to sleepy Joe.

We took it over to Bob and Mary's, the nice couple who lent us the canoe. We had a ferry to catch in two hours, and a monster fish on our hands.

Bob, our honorary mayor of Haines, fileted the massive beast and cooked him right up. We had yummy salmon in our bellies, some for the road (boat), and a present for our awesome hosts. All and all, an excellent last day.

p.s. I uploaded some pics to the last two photoless entries.

Haines, Day 4

2006-10-05T15:26:00.000-07:00

So guess what folks, we missed the ferry. Actually, technically speaking, one of the ferries caught on fire and now they're overbooked and we have to wait till Saturday. In lieu of flinging my arms up in exasperation and screaming at the sky, I've chosen the alternative: chopping my hair and digging into the continuous Alaska pretty.

This rad guy Bob at the local brewery listened to our sad story, filled us a 1/2 gallon jug of stout, and said "hey, you guys wanna borrow a canoe?" So we've been out on the lake our campsite overlooks, fishing for the latest run of salmon and avoiding the bears. Seriously, this area is teeming with grizzlies. We heard them growling right outside our car the other night, and saw a couple trudging up the river, eating salmon carcasses and looking incredibly cute with their oversized heads.

Haines is the epitome of Alaska, so much that's it's practically a cliche. It's to the point where we'll be driving (chuggging) along, and a bald eagle is soaring overhead against a backdrop of rugged fog-cloaked mountains streaming with waterfalls. Then the Star Spangled Banner starts playing.

We've changed our plans, due to Gunther's bad behavior. We'll be taking the ferry all the way to Washington, to fix our van troubles once and for all. For some reason, getting back on the Alaska highway doesn't seem like the brightest idea.

All the world's problems are caused by inanimate objects

2006-10-03T15:17:00.000-07:00

Thirteen days and a new engine later, we're back on the road. The day is clear, we're driving toward snowy mountains, and the grey grass is frozen outside. Crispy golden mustard leaves float off birch trees, bright spots of color in a muted dying palette. Happy-go-lucky dogs cruise the highway, grinning with tongues flapping at oncoming death. Our mission: an 800-mile marathon of driving to catch a 4am ferry leaving from Haines, Alaska.

At the moment, I'd love to strip Gunther of his name, leaving him naked, shamefaced and anonymous in classic Hawthorne fashion. It's so frustrating, I want to love him. I want to trust him. He's just a hunk of metal, yet the source of all life's problems.

Anchorage was bittersweet. Though the rainy wait was not ideal, we had a lot of downtime in a cozy RV, getting know an amazing part of my family I previously didn't even know existed. Wendy fed us homecooked meals, Kelly drank beer with us, and their two daughters bounced around like monkeys with Spencer, the family shnauser (we really need to get him miniature vest and monocle.)

Last night we hit the road after the shop guys put their final painstaking Saturday hours into "the van from hell." They were as happy to see us go as we were to leave, I'm sure. As we were driving, we realized the feathery cloud-looking things above our heads were the elusive northern lights. We pulled over and sat there, watching the pale green lights dance and shift like spirits. It was like a close to our Alaska trip, a rare ethereal treat we've been longing to see.

I hope we can make peace with the van. It's not really something worth dwelling on, because ultimately there's no way this trip will be smooth and perfect. That's not what it's about, I don't think. Hey, maybe at the end of this I'll be this totally zen'd out hippie, everything rolling off my back like a duck. A cute one. Not one of those tumor-y looking guys.

-Rach

We Live In A Mechanic Shop...

2006-09-26T15:58:00.000-07:00

Well, life has been no less than interesting lately. The alarm goes off at 7am, and every five minutes thereafter. At 8, we're finally roused by the sound of machinery clanking to life. Weak light streams into our cave. Mens' voices echo outside. We sit and wait. Sit and wait. Wait. Sit.

We've been stuck in Anchorage for the last 10 days, waiting (and sitting) on a mystery diagnosis for our not-so-precious Günther and living in the garage of Arctic Import Repair. Bruce, the kind owner with a marvelous mustache, lets us stay, granted we hunt the shop rats and stay out of the grease buckets. It's always dark, but we have everything we need. Except for a running vehicle, that is.

Turns out, Günth has a case of "terrible engine death". After sputtering and spurting up the Alcan, he's gone and blown his piston like a little brat. The guys here finally know what's wrong, after days of trying, as Günther died in their arms. They are doing surgery. I've felt let down, stir crazy, discouraged, and depressed. Our remaining time here is unknown.

On the bright side, things are finally starting to turn around. We've hooked up with some distant relatives of mine, right here in Anchorage. My mom's stepmom's brother's daughter, to be exact. They set us up in their motor home, which basically feels like a 5-star luxury suite at the moment. We've been on a Six Feet Under marathon. We're out of the rain and the cold. And, to top it all off, Bruce has agreed to trade some our massive car repairs for a website! Yes, I love the bartering system!

I'm not sure how much longer we will be here, but I just hope it's before the snow creeps down the mountain. It's this ominous pending thing, as it starts at the top, works its way down, then sticks by Halloween. At the moment there's a dusting barely covering the peaks. It wasn't here when we arrived. I'll keep you posted.

-Rach

Death of a Shadesman - AP Newswire

2006-09-22T12:53:00.000-07:00

(Anchorage, AK) On Thursday, September 21st, at 3pm Alaskan Standard Time, Shades McSpecs died of undetermined causes. He was 7 months of age. Experts close to the deceased conclude the probable cause of death to a broken heart from abandonment.

Shades McSpecs came into existence in a maniacal lapse in good judgment.

Blurry eyed and desperate, Joseph Johnson decided that a new pair of glasses was just what he needed to get an edge in the business world. He had already tried the Karrass school of negotiation, which he had purchased from Sky Mall magazine, and was still not capable of either winning friends or influencing people. Johnson reasoned, with his synapses twisted into a desperate mess, that specs had to be the answer. It was not until he naively agreed to transitional lenses, that the trouble really began. His blind agreement to a lens treatment he knew nothing about proves how much of a sucker Johnson is for upsells covered by his insurance.

From the beginning Shades and Johnson had a turbid relationship. It first began when he realized that transitional lenses actually...transition. Soon after receiving his shiny new glasses he stepped outside to find his coworkers in an uproar of laughter. With horror Johnson realized that his smart horn-rimmed glasses transform into artfag 90's molester shades with a flash of the sun's rays. With each moment the shades turned darker, his anger deepened. He dubbed his glasses "Shades McSpecs" and swore that they would be dead before the year's end. There were indeed good times, but in the end everyone knew that the relationship would have to end.

Johnson's face shows obvious shock after see the dark side of shades.

Shades befriends Hoats, and is loathed by Rachel Kim.

Captured here is the common scene of Johnson attempting to remove shades before the camera clicks and captures the awkward spectacle.

In a classic moment of irony Shades is covered with shade.

On a trip to Lens Crafters in Anchorage Shades was replaced with a smart pair of polycarbonate lenses with wire frames. Truly they will be loved like Shades never could have been. The rejection was a crushing blow that led to the death of Shades.

Upon hearing of Shades' demise Rachel Kim reminisced, "Never before have I felt my attraction for a man drain, as it had when I looked at Shades. His winsome banter and frolicking manner will not be missed." This perhaps best summarizes the life of the often misunderstood and always loathed Shades.

Shades McSpecs
2006-2006

Homer, a drinking town with a fishing problem...doh

2006-09-18T18:52:00.000-07:00

I've never really considered myself much of a seaman.

In my brief sailing career (3 months) I managed to work my way up to "First Mate" simply by being one of the few onboard not drinking on the job. This of course gave me the glorious opportunity to bark orders at my best friend Kevin (Second Mate) and see him promptly laugh instead of hoisting the main sail. With our recent trip to Homer Alaska, the world's halibut capitol and home of The Salty Dawg Saloon (the most famous bar in the Pacific), I feel it's appropriate to explore the deep connection between sailors and their beloved spirits.

This fermentation fascination began with the Phoenecians, reached its culmination when Eric the Red realized that water kept longer if you dumped a bunch of grain in it, and was brought to hundreds of thousands of children with the jug-swigging Pirate of the Caribbean. I am of course referring to the one with the really hairy leg that has been sitting on the burning bridge in Anaheim for the last 60 years. With our trip to The Salty Dawg we found one of the last bastions for the sloppy sailor and their singing, swearing, and savagery. Arrrr matey.

With a squall on the rise we found shelter inside The Dawg. It was a strange day to visit as the place was filled with a Travel Channel(TM) film crew complete with floodlights, location scouts, sound guys, and an überslick producer who kept telling the interviewee to stand up straight to fix a "background issue". That's the LA way of asking someone to cover up the unsightly bar patron behind them. It felt like a smooth little piece of LA crashed an eternal blue collar house party and started pretending to appreciate an escape from fishing boats and oil rigs. After digging in for a while the memory gets a little hazy but I do know this: a tv episode entitled "A Thousand Places to See Before You Die" will air on Travel Chanel(TM), Rachel and I can be seen drinking with modern-day pirates on cable television, and the überslick producer guy slipped out the back door before buying the round that he kept yapping about. In a weird way seeing the whole thing and talking to the regulars made me feel a deep sense of embarassment about my own LA qualities. Although, I do see some of them fading in front of me with each day I am away.

We are in Anchorage now getting Günther tuned up (a.k.a. running) before we make our way back down the Alcan to the good ole USA. We are thinking about taking a 40-hour ferry from Haines to Prince Rupert and pretending that we are on a luxurious cruise. We may be out of touch for a little while in Canada but after that we should have some rad stuff from Jasper, Banff, Glacier National Park & Montana. We did finally have some good fishing in Soldotna. We caught about 20 salmon, which unfortunately were of the variety that Alaskans affectionately refer to as "Dog Salmon." Hopefully I will get Rachel to take her waders off soon. I keep telling her there's a proper time for fishing clothes but she keep saying "you never know when they'll bite". She has wild, mountain woman eyes when she says these things.

- JJ

Yes, We're Still In Alaska

2006-09-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

Hey friends. We're chilling on the Kenai Peninsula, enjoying the last streaks of their Indian Summer. Our days lately have been comprised of learning how to fish and staying at awesome, free, post-season campgrounds. Our camping has been the more successful of the two.

We skipped through rainy blah weather in Anchorage and around, and booked it down here to try our hand at catching our own dinner. So far, we've managed to buy really awesome wader boots and overpriced fishing licenses. As for the fishing, we've been standing in the shadows of master anglers hooking beautiful shiny fish left and right. We got scared off the banks by a grunting grizzly, working his way up the river and gnawing on bloated salmon carcasses.

I'll keep it short and sweet as we're parked in an RV lot, sampling their wi-fi. Wish us better luck on our fishing. Miss you all, sorry we're gettting a bit behind on keeping in touch. Service down here is spotty.

-Rach
p.s. Jamie, it's cuteoverload.com, and it's the best site there is.

D E N A L I IS HUGE !!!!!

2006-09-04T20:31:00.000-07:00

DENALI!!!! The word will churn the stomach of even the most grizzled pioneers and adventurers. A vast wilderness defined only by its rugged lack of boundaries. 6 million acres of raw, frozen tundra swirling around the commanding and tireless watch of Mount McKinley. DENALI!!! Where grizzlies take time from feasting on caribou only to swat at the swarming pack of grey wolves. DENALI!!!! Land of mystery and illusion....okay I'll shutup. The truth is that I have grown rather bored of simply recounting my life's events for the blog. It feels a bit like homework and its time to mix things up. From now on I am gonna let the pics do the talking and change up my entries to reflect more of the abstract impressions, musings, and colloquial hyperbole that Ive picked up along the way.

Land of plenty. So one of the best things about Denali has to be that about a 3rd of the ground is covered with Blueberries. These wild berries are as fresh as the come and taste even better when you dont have to fork over $6 to Whole Foods. Here is the lifecycle of the blueberry in Denali.

You scrounge through the plentiful fields making sure to not disturb the bears.

You pick a bunch of berries.

Then you make a mighty fine stack of blueberry pancakes. Rinse and repeat.

Real Man of Genius: Mr Gigantic Compensating Lens Guy
Nothing like enjoying the wilderness with this dude whose favorite pasttimes include talking about all his vacation exploits ("you did that, cool, cause I did that 4 times already") and shoving his huge lens in your window by your face.

"Mooses are hairy
They are called Gary
Mooses bend
Thats the end"

These couplets were taken from "Mooses" a poem by Joey Johnson, Age 6. Though obsessed with finishing my poem with a word to rhyme with "end" it turns out that my juvenlie poetry was entirely true. As we learned, hunters actually bend moose into the shape of delicious pepproni. It is freaking ono and should be enjoyed only while drinking Moosedrool Brown Ale. Be careful though, if you eat too much you may look unkempt and grow a snaggle tooth. Frankly Im a bit pissed nobody told me about the secret pleasures of the moose sooner. So many years wasted.

-JJ

Fairbanks: Good People with Moose

2006-09-04T18:46:00.000-07:00

Alaska is substantially more beautiful than I could have imagined when compared to the tourist-infested shores via cruise ship (though those floating gluttony farms have their merits- aka the food). It truly is a raw, sprawling wilderness gem, vibrant at the cusp of fall.

We spent a few days recovering from the Alcan parked in a cozy, rainy campground in Fairbanks. To give you some reference, Fairbanks is the largest northern city, second in population to Anchorage. It's threaded by the mellow Chena River and is full of friendly, eclectic folks. Although we were unsuccessful in our attempts to view the northern lights (do you know how hard it is to wake up at 2:30 a.m. without an alarm?), we did manage to get some good times in.

We spent a day at Chena Hot Springs, stopping along the way to do a forrest hike. I've never seen such an abundance of fungi life, almost every footstep was interrupted by a macroscopic study of all the cute little organisms growing everywhere in every color available. Afterwards we headed to the hot springs, which at 156º, need to be cooled and funneled into a man-made rock pond. It's an awesome place to relax, there's a spraying fountain in the middle for when you get overheated, tons of japanese tourists, and large flat rocks to lunge your lizardlike body upon. Not to mention, we had the softest skin every after hanging out for four hours or so.

Another highlight was a canoe trip down the Chena River. Now, when you go to rent your canoe from a crotchety old man, make sure you have him clarify what "six hours of paddling" means. Because if you don't, you may very well end up rowing back to his place in 11pm darkness, hoping your poor little gloveless hands don't freeze off.

Other than this minor technicality, we had a great time. Sandwiches were had, beers were drank, countless beavers were spotted and chased. And to top it all off, around dinnertime a friendly Fairbanks resident called out to us while we were passing his home on the river. His family served us an excellent homecooked meal, dessert, and then sent back down the river laden with moose pepperoni. Really, who could ask for more? Thanks Mick and family!

Next is Denali, the 6-MILLION acre behemoth National Park. I can only hope we shall dine upon moose, while spotting moose and drinking Moose Drool beer.

-R

I think Alcan, I think Alcan...Alcan Alcan Alcan:

2006-08-25T19:52:00.000-07:00

....a feat beyond our fondest expectations. When we chitchat with the locals about how gravel spewn by passing cars cracked our windshield in two places, they chuckle. As we explain how our wheel fell off, they yawn. And when we frantically motion with our hands to depict the roadway flight of the caribou, their eyes glaze over and they mumble something about killin a moose and cutting it in four pieces to lift the 500 lb animal into their truck for dinner.

Yes, we've finally arrived in Alaska! We're getting hopped up on free coffee right now in Fairbanks- home of the Aurora Borealis and mosquitos the size of small bats. We've set up camp and breathed a heavy, collective sigh of relief that we reached one of our most remote destinations.

For those who haven't been, Alaska is gigantic. Seriously, everything about it is massive. The horizon stretches for 720 degrees with mountains straight out of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The sun never ceases and the beard to bear ratio is off the charts. Besides marveling at the picturesque drive up, so far we've visited the Museum of the North (a lovely and informative taxidermy graveyard), made the best home cooked fajita burritos in Alaska's history, and watched migrating cranes glide with grace over a sanctuary that permits hunting and trapping.

It's strange, but it's as if the moment we arrived the pressure had been lifted. As much as this trip has involved abandoning our careers and social responsibilities, we still felt pressured to reach Alaska before the end of August. It's the metaphorical stamp to legitimize this grandiose ruote. Well, 2 vans and 3 tires later we can quote Dubya in saying, "Mission Accomplished". On second thought we still have 20,000 miles to go, and Dubya still has a war to win.

Regardless, it feels like we can finally relax. We're going to chase the remaining "summer" weather, down through Denali, to Anchorage, and south to the Kenai peninsula to catch the tail end of the salmon run. BTW if you get a huge cold package from Alaska over-nighted, open it sooner rather than later.

PS. We are finally back on the grid so we uploaded photos from our past posts. Also we are back in cell phone country for those that would like to reach out and touch us.

Snakes on a Barf

2006-08-20T19:26:00.000-07:00

Did I mention that I hate Fort St. John?

We've been holed up here for 4 long days, and we're running out of things to do. Today, we went to the "mall" and watched Snakes on a Plane, triumphed with Samuel L., then I proceeded to vomit, twice, in the parking lot. Eggs. Felt sick and man that movie sure shakes alot with all those fricken snakes on the fricken plane.

I can't wait to get out of here and make it to Alaska before it starts snowing. I miss Günther. We pick him up tomorrow, fingers crossed. Meanwhile, we'll be here, living in our tent and reliving the beauty of Snakes. On a Plane.

- Rach

Anybody have a spare figurine of Christopher the Patron Saint of Travel?

2006-08-19T15:44:00.000-07:00

Cause if you have one I'll shoot you. HAHA. Get it. Its like that terrible, and yes terribly overrated film Crash. Or as I like to call it Poor Man's Magnolia. Or as I also like to call it Grand Canyon - Racism Edition.

A lot has happened since I last blogged. We watched Crash (did I mention I'm embarassed to be from the same country as that film), we toured Vancouver Island (radness), we stayed overnight in a Walmart parking lot (for all you Walmart haters both Rachel and I relieved ourselves in the lot), and I spent my 27th birthday stranded on the side of the road and in an RV Park.

In fact Rachel and I are still currently residing in that very RV park in Fort St John. For those not familiar, its a small city in Northeast BC that was born to pass through. Its basically all gas stations and auto shops held together by its spine, The Alcan. The Alcan is the final 1,390 mile stretch through BC, the Yukon, and thru to Alaska. In short, there ain't much to do here except fish without a license, and we are here for at least 5 days total. How did this happen you ask?

Well, basically the one thing I didnt want to happen did. I was prepared for a blow out on the Alcan, after all we've already gone through 2 tires, but an entire wheel flying off at 70 MPH caught us a bit by surprise. Basically the tire threw a pin and it sent our right rear tire flying about 25 yards into the forest. In the process of stopping we ground off about 6 inches from the bottom of our right rear axle. So basically we are holed up in a tent waiting for our incredibly foreign VW parts to arrive.

I hope this post doesnt come across totally negative. The main thing is that we are safe. AAA coverted the tow. And we found an amazing mechanic who found all the replacement parts in good shape from a wrecking yard. He saved us about $300. Come Monday night we should be able to reattempt the Alcan.

Thanks everyone for the birthday love.

- JJ

In the Words of Calvin and Hobbes, Yukon Ho!

2006-08-16T12:52:00.001-07:00

Günther, the Mighty, is well on his way to Alaska, via B.C.'s beautiful Caribou Coast. I'm feeling a bit distraught, as our camping gear just gave out with a good five days' drive till we reach the big Gold A. So instead of blogging down with vanagon woes that will undoubtedly increase as the journey continues, I leave you with some delectable tidbits of life on the road.

Mice in the Night.
Need I say more? Camping near Whistler, Joe and I could not determine that oh-so-close crackling sound disturbing our slumber. Was it a badger outside? Bears? A crazy Mountie? A quick flick of the MagLite at 4am, and our trespasser(s) scurried below. Not one, no not even two, but less than seven, little furry beasts scampered about in a carb-induced craze, jubilantly munching our bread and granola. It was a feast! Those dirty little rats, er..., mice. Gross.

Those Spitter-Splatters on the Windshield.
Driving through scenic mountains and valleys in BC, Joe and I were with high spirits and open windows. Suddenly an unusually frequent barrage of splatters plastered the glass. It continued, a freak cloud of bugs bouncing to and fro, then we realized: Bees. Awesome. Referencing Joe's earlier blog on Pork Paw, it was no surprise to turn my head and see him extending 2/3 of his body out the window, trying to flick the death bombs off his crotch and legs. Then I managed to stay on the road while he flicked one off my elbow. No officer, I swear, a cloud of bees.

Tim Horton's.
Okay, I know this may not be funny to anyone, but in Canada they have this chain named Tim Horton's. They serve coffee and donuts. To fit in, Joe and I have adopted Canadian accents and try to ask the locals "Hey, uh, where can I find the nearest Timmy Horton's?" Just try and say it. With a Canadian accent. Timmy Hortons. I swear, it's funny.

To the Yukon and beyond!

-R

Whatever you do, don't go to Vancouver

2006-08-11T16:34:00.000-07:00

Ahh, Beautiful British Columbia. Shimmering mountain crests as your glorious backdrop. Fresh clean skies. Elk. Oh, and crackheads who steal your bike in the night.

Yes, you heard correctly. My cherished stallion Schwinny has been taken from me, and I've kissed the best $120 I've ever spent at Target goodbye. I guess that's the price you pay when you park on the street in dirty rotten Vancouver. We stayed one night then got the hell out after a 3am scare that included sleeping in a neighborhood, hearing suspicious noises, and Joe running outside in his underwear to watch some junkie riding away on my bike, cackling like Satan himself.

It's not just the bike. We've had such a string of bad luck lately that running away via ferry, to Vancouver Island, seemed like the best option. It's been rough. Let's just say I've sustained a Girl Injury that occurs when you fall off the curb and onto your bike crossbar, full force. And I dropped Joe's guitar. Dropped it in it's soft case and he loves that thing more than I've ever seen a man love a guitar, and for due cause. It's a beautiful 1973 Martin that belonged to his dad and now I feel absolutely horrible that I hurt it. Then to top it all off we got a parking ticket while shopping for a new bike.

Deep breath. We've had a few setbacks, but nothing that can't be fixed. The guitar is carefully packed, on it's way to get fixed by meticulous gentle hands in LA. I bought a new bike. And a new lock. And we got away from stupid Vancouver with it's smelly bike thieves with souls as black as their rotten crack-coated lungs.

Now we're sitting in Victoria, and it's so nice to relax and hope our luck has changed for the better. We'll hang out here for a few days and ride bikes and lock them with our Kryptonite uber-lock. So Superman doesn't steal them.

Portland to Seattle Pics

2006-08-11T16:18:00.000-07:00

Biking with my longtime friend Crystal and her husband Nick in Portland, who just got married. Yay Crystal and Nick!

Nice lil pizza 'n' beer stop in Portland, complete with MJ's Moonwalker.

Mt. Hood, where Joe's friends Randy and Faye were awesome and set us up in their guest house. You guys rule.

We did this vertical hike up to Dog Mountain on the Washington side of the Gorge. Special hiking sticks are a must!

Seattle.

Things You Will Find On The Oregon Coast

2006-08-05T18:55:00.000-07:00

The Oregon coast is windy.

On the Oregon coast, you will find men who feed ducks and know their species, and who reluctantly fish their wive's keys out of the mucky pond.

You will find sea lion caves with elevators built in rock, awesome squatting on cliffsides, cozy lighthouses, sand dunes, and rocks shaped like whales.

You will not find One-Eyed Willie's Treasure.

We're in Portland now, riding bikes, drinking $2 beers and visiting our nice friends, Crystal and Nick. Hood River, OR is next. Sorry for the lazy blog. There are lazy blogs in Portland.

-R

The Claw vs. Paul Bunyan

2006-08-05T18:38:00.000-07:00

If a tree falls in the woods, and a young couple is being murdered by mountain folk, does anyone hear it? Well in Leggett, CA the whole town hears you and takes bets on how long youll last.

Mom, I apologize for the dramatic intro but I was told by my 6th grade English teacher to always start an essay with a hook. Now that I have your attention I can tell you the real story, its only about half that bad.

After working our way up the CA-1 we ended up low on fuel and stuck in Humbolt country at 11pm at night. While Humbolt is best known for beautiful Redwoods and giant Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox statues, no one really tells you that all the gas stations there close at 8pm. For a Vanagon traveler with a max 200 miles per tank, this basically means that come darkness you better be safely tucked away in a campground and not roaming the mountains searching for an automated gas pump.

Well to make a long story short (too late) Rachel and I got to spend the night in the parking lot of the only semi-public establishment in Leggett in hopes that the flood lights would keep "The Claw" away (for more info one "The Claw" see "campfire stories"). There is no better feeling than waking up at 6am clutching the cold steel of your trusty hatchet "Molly", realizing that Günther kept out all nefarious bearded intruders.

With a new lease on life we quickly headed over to the drive thru tree to make sure we left Leggett with only fond memories. Although should we really think fondly of a city famous for carving a huge hole in a tree older than Jesus? Hmmm, and it makes me wonder.

- JJ

JJ's Road Remedies for the Common Traveler: Chapter 1- Pork Paw & the Hairy Vents

2006-08-02T13:10:00.000-07:00

Due to countless requests from our loyal readers, we have decided to start an advice column addressing everyday problems that are bound to arise while travelling down the road of life. After all, homespun wisdom is priceless and should be shared with all. Enjoy, and please feel free to offer up some of your own quandries and remedies.

Problem One: While cruising along the CA-1 a bee flies into your window at 70 mph and plants its stinger deep into your hand. A strange allegic reaction occurs, swelling your hand to almost the exact same size as the paw of common swine. You have a pork paw. The very sight of it makes your girlfriend want to slap your hand on the griddle and fry it up for breakfast.

The Remedy: While traveling thru Santa Cruz, locals informed us of a very enjoyable remedy for PPS (pork paw syndrome). Simply order a large pitcher of Sierra Nevada Summerfest and drink the whole thing. While this "Beer Bath" won't reduce swelling or itching, it will turn the Pork Paw into a humorous source of endless entertainment. On top of playing pin the paw to the dart board, great fun can be had by making swine squeals and rubbing the paw on strangers. Roo paw you may have met your match.

Problem Two: Theres nothing like enjoying the ocean air west of San Mateo: the salt, the mountain, the harbor seals freshly clubbed. Everything is picturesque, when suddenly some curly silver hair floats out of the AC vent. Now, this is troubling because Gunther is merely 19 years old and should not have gone grey. Also, the massive amounts of hair would suggest that somebody stuffed a curly poodle down the AC duct. Basically, the whole think makes you want to torch the van and take a shower for a week.

The Remedy: Carefully remove the buckets of hair from the vents with your girlfriend's best tweezing utensil. Sure she may have bushier eyebrows the rest of the trip but you are one step closer to savoring the sweet summer air without choking on unidentified hair.

This concludes the inagaural edition of Road Remedies from JJ. Stay tuned for more advice for the road weary.

Yosemitelicious!

2006-08-02T12:33:00.000-07:00

Yosemite is so amazing!!! I can't believe I've never been before... if you haven't been, GO!!! I was just absolutely blown away by how beautiful it was.

We felt instantly immersed into the outdoorsy vibe of our trip, with Günther's camping gear in full effect. Günth plopped down right next to some sequoias and bluejays and felt right at home. It's such an awesome ride, the pop-top bed is quite cozy, and once you get the stove, sink, and fridge working, it's like our own lil' home in a box.

We spent our days in Yosemite kicking our own asses back into shape. We figured a nice 5 mile bike ride up a potholed road was a great way to start. My legs were really, really mad at me. From there we hiked to this GORGEOUS lake, absolutely empty except for us, and ate sandwiches and swam and watched blue dragonflies hump eachother. Then came the fun part: riding down those 5 miles of potholed road, full speed, trying not to die. Soooo fun.

We spent the next day bike riding through the valley, taking in the impossibly massive slabs of granite and waterfalls and meadows. Along the way we saw naughty squirrels stealing people's trail mix, deers cruising close by, even a baby bear wandering through the forrest. From there we hiked up Vernal Falls. Talk about a stairmaster x 1000! Huge rock steps leading upward forever, cooled by the rainbowy mists of a giant waterfall. A hard hike, but such a payoff at the top.

From here we're headed toward the coast, and upward.
-R

A Carthartic Drive on the Amazing 5

2006-07-27T16:15:00.000-07:00

It's been the longest past two weeks of my life. Days were filled from early morning to midnite with the tedium of errands, moving, banking, post offices, car detailing, blah blah blah, an incredibly exhausting and draining whirlwind. Our estimated departure date came and went. We were at eachother's throats, spending each waking moment on tasks. So much energy and stress was focused into tying up these loose ends, I actually forgot the reason we were doing them.

It wasn't until yesterday at noon, as we were pulling our shiny clean Günther out of the driveway, that it really hit me. Nathan was in the driveway waving us goodbye. We were driving away from my home of the last 6 years, my brother, my friends, my life here. I felt light, happy, excited. Then I burst into tears.

It was just so strange to be leaving, to have this adventure we've been dreaming about to actually begin. To feel a marked moment where I knew my life was changing.

We had a tedious drive ahead of us, the 5 is not the most beautiful route to be taking in a bus with no AC in the heat of summer. Actually, I take that back. At moments we saw rolling hills shimmering golden in the heat, and the road was empty and stretched ahead of us. We made it to Sacramento, our day of sweat dried as we stepped into my uncle's cool air conditioned house to see my grandparents, cousins, snaggle-toothed dogs, and pet rats. We really made it, we're out of LA.
-R

Long Live Gunther (Goon-thar)

2006-07-19T21:23:00.001-07:00

At last, we've found The One. Early Monday morning we hopped on a plane with our hopes high and one-way flights to Phoenix, Arizona.

Even by 11am it felt like stepping straight into a nice toasty oven, at a comfy 105º. Our prospective seller and die-hard deadhead, David, picked us up from the airport. We didn't really know what to expect. After what happened with the last van (over $6k in repairs to make it road-worthy), we just wanted to find something that could get us through our trip, something that we could feel comfortable with. We pulled up to David's driveway and saw Him sitting there in the sushine.

Gun metal gray. Rasta red-yellow-green footpedals. Grateful Dead and Bob Marley stickers galore. A dusty vision of beauty.

After taking him for a few spins, we knew at the push of the gas pedal and with the corresponding roar that this was The One. He felt stable, strong, and unmistakenly cared for. David took good care of him, and took great care of us. Not to mention, he had a great dane the size of a horse, and a pet turtle the size of a small car. We drove away with a sense of confidence, a Dancing Bear beanie baby, and two power windows that would not roll down in 105º weather.

With six hours of miserably sweaty driving on our plate, we christened the van as Günther and sang songs about him. Günther is a warrior. Günther is a badass. Formerly known as Apache, Günther will take us around the continent and become our home. I can only imagine the crazy adventures he's already been on. We drove along, back to LA from Arizona and couldn't help but feel incredibly optimistic, even in the heat. We love Günther and can't wait to start our journey. Thanks David, if you ever look us up. We hope to leave early next week, maybe Monday or Tues...
-R

BBQ before we go.

2006-06-28T18:07:00.000-07:00

What better way to celebrate our temporary sabbatical from the working world than to throw a huge BBQ and get durty with all of our LA friends before we leave. This will be a downright excessive Kansas City BBQ and even a keg or two. I hope everyone can make it. Heres the rad concept flyer and the details....notice a much younger but equally handsome El Guapo in the photo.

Sunday, July 16, 1:00p in Rachel's Backyard - 1326 N Fairfax Ave, West Hollywood, CA

- JJ