Canmore

Since Georgie was present for this latest adventure, I’ll share my mental notes on the matter, rather than telling the story. 

Note: Times are approximate.

Wednesday July 23rd

9:00 am- We meet in hotel restaurant for a delicious and hearty breakfast. Consume too much coffee. Carolyn orders slop-like oatmeal. Georgia finished my bacon.

10:00 am- All cram back into Georgia’s tiny Ford SUV. Mom mentions shoulder discomfort. My legs cramp from being folded into tiny car.

10:00-11:00am- The sisters sing wildly to show tunes and the Sound of Music soundtrack.

11:20am- A brief moment of silence.

11:40am- Talk of lunch and car-seat discomfort.

12:30pm- Cross border into Canada. Are disappointed to not find high-waisted, Canadian Troopers with large black boots at border.

1:15pm- Stop for lunch on flowery patio. Order grub and receive water with no ice. Georgia is put out about lack of ice.

1:30pm- Move to table in the shade.

2:30pm- Climb back into car and resume driving. Talk of previous cinematic creations starring Johnny Depp as Johnny Menotti of Menotti BoatWorks who falls in love with Cella Lambrusco, played by Catherine Zeta Jones, an engaged beauty from a rival Italian family.

3:30pm- Wild singing of show tunes.

4:00pm- Arrive at condo in Canmore. Promptly go out for ice-cream sundaes.

4:20pm- Regret ice-cream sundaes.

4:30pm- Trek to grocery store for weekend staples: Frozen pizzas, yogurt, eggs, cheese, ice cream and toilet paper.

5:30-7:00pm- Discuss wide range of topics including old age, skin ailments, celebrities, happy songs, and footwear.

7:00-7:30pm- Consume two frozen pizzas.

7:30pm- Work on blog post about Boise while gals work out a new movie plot.

10:00- 10:30pm- Power goes out in entire town.

11:00pm- All sack out in comfy beds.

Thrusday July 24

9:00am- Have eaten breakfast and are out the door drving to downtown Canmore.

10:00-12:00- In and out of trinket stores. Very cold rain. Mom looks for warm hat or sweatshirt. I purchase copper bracelet for “Travel Graveyard” I wear on wrist.

12:00-1:15pm- Fancy delicious lunch. I'm getting sleepy.

1:15-4:00pm. Trinket shopping continues. Sun comes out. Realize I do not possess the shopping stamina of mother and aunts. Carolyn buys an apron.

5:00-7:00pm- Snack on crackers, cheese, and ice cream for dinner. Skype Ellen to say Hello.

7:00-10:00pm- Lengthy discussion about life. Am now concerned by the idea of marriage.

10:30pm- Gals go to bed, I stay up Skyping on bathroom floor.

Boise

Our tale starts with one correction. My three new traveling companions insisted I had it wrong.
"It's a POST-menopausal comedy roadshow!" they shouted and I obliged to to retract my original claim and update my facts.
"We're done with all that." Georgia said with a wave of the hand.
"Except for hot flashes." Mom added.
"Eighteen years I had hot flashes." Georgia huffed, and so a conversation of the perils of old age ensued. I've now been frightened out of growing old (something I've always looked forward to) and also the terrifying concept of marriage (something I always assumed would happen but never thought too much about.) but these are woes for another day.

Our adventure starts in Boise. Georgia and Bill met the three of us gals close to midnight on Sunday and drove us 40 minutes into the night and up a mountain to their lovely log home. As the only one new to the Idaho trek, I was given the front seat next to Tour Guide Bill. Bill told me all about life in Idaho and repeatedly pointed out into the darkness, telling me where things were and what happened there. "See that mountain?" he'd say with such enthusiasm. I'd squint my eyes and peer out the window, never seeing anything but darkness. "Uh huh." I'd grunt, as perplexed by the view as I was by the tale he was telling. Who is this Mike fella he keeps mentioning? Am I supposed to know about Lisa's baby? Meanwhile in the backseat, the three sisters laughed and cackled in-between long yawns and corrections to Bill's informative tour.

Bill and Georgia's log cabin is a beautifully built home, crafted to perfection, and decorated with the perfect mix of western novelties and mountain necessities. They live on top of a giant mountain with a sensational view. It's isolated but cozy and feels like home. It's the details that got me...and maybe that view.

We woke up the next day for lots of sitting around, chatting, and eating candy. We did venture over to Idaho City which sounds grandiose but in fact is an old western strip town that houses only 400 people and at the end of the road is this beauty.

We ate some grub and took the long way home, stopping to look at houses, elk, and more stupendous views.

Our Boise stay was brief but pleasant. We set out on the road bright and early Tuesday morning. The three gals sang obnoxious tunes almost the whole way up to Bonner's Ferry where we stayed in a Casino Hotel that was housing the biggest group of "gerifatric" people we've ever seen. We did have a most delicious dinner and we promptly conked out by 8:30. It was still bright outside and we were so tired we forgot eat our cookies. That just doesn't happen.

Mister Budds

I shall interrupt my venture blogging to tell you that I entered Buddy in a photo contest. It's ironically called The Good Dog Photo Contest and while Buddy is in fact not a good dog (in the traditional sense) he's quite a handsome dickens and I think it's time he get his 15 minutes.

The winner of the contest gets some kind of fruit basket and should your dog have a personality to match it's striking good looks, the folks at Garden and Gun will consider publishing an article on the little devil.

Should you feel inclined, you can vote for ole Budds here... http://bit.ly/Uu8GzJ 

In the end your vote doesn't matter much. It's the tasteful artists at Garden and Gun that pick the winner but the five pups with the most votes will get their photo published. Personally I hate when people ask me to vote for things. It's always so much trouble and you have to create a login and give them your email and all sort of obnoxious things, so I never do it. Forget supporting my friends!
BUT this one is easy. You just click the link and hit "vote". I think.
So, go do it. Or not.

Budds will love you either way.

Parv

Remember sassy Parv from Palo Alto? Parvy came to visit me for a few days last week and we ate our way around the city.

We had tacos, waffles, hearty steaks, berry salads, ice cream, soft pretzels, and Thai food. We met an old SCAD friend, did laundry, discovered a beach, and found ourselves at a farmers market where I unearthed the largest zucchini I've ever seen. I enjoyed having some company and Parv amused me with her many tales of dates gone awry. I'm not quite sure how she finds these gentlemen.

The day has finally come and I'm leaving Portland in exchange for a menopausal comedy roadshow with Aunts; Georgia and Carolyn, and my dear sweet mama who I can't wait to see. I'll show up in Boise tomorrow night and us gals are going to drive up to Canada. How about that?

You know. This whole blog started so many years ago when Georgia and Bill moved away because I was hoping to make them homesick and move back to Charleston. The blog is in fact named after the response I get when I tell Georgia about my life. 

"Aunt Georgia! I'm going to Greece!" I'd exclaim. "Awe geez." she'd reply with a roll of the eyes.

"Georgie I dropped out of college!"

"Aunt Georgia, I'm going to start a goat farm!"

"You know Georgie, an off season ticket is only $800."

No matter what I say, "Awe. Geez."

It's like she finds me exhausting or something. I write each post as though I'm speaking to just the two of them which now makes me feel awkward announcing my visit. They already know I'm coming. Who am I writing to now?

I'm excited to finally see Aunt Georgia and Uncle Bill's log cabin I've heard so much about. 

And then I'll tell them all about their trip on their blog.

Silly Boys

The perpetually mysterious but always lovely Will Hon set me up for an exciting Saturday adventure. He snagged me some “too busy for fun” fella’s leftover ticket to a concert at the Portland Zoo. What concert you ask? Well it was the Carolina Chocolate Drops. “What’s that?” I asked Will Hon.

“They’re a folk band of black men.” he replied, “Ergo, chocolate.” and the ticket was all mine. His old roommate Ben lives in Seattle and was coming down for the show.

I met Ben and his two friends outside of the apartment on Saturday afternoon. There was a big street festival taking place right outside and upon emerging into the sea of people, Ben’s helpful text of “I’m wearing brown shorts.” seemed lacking in detail. I walked exceptionally slowly towards two fellas on the street corner. I oozed towards them with a half-smile on my face, my eyes shifting between theirs and their khaki shorts. “Khaki is brown.” I thought as I crept towards them. “At least, a man might call them brown.” They looked at me with alarm in their eyes and then turned slightly away. While still in motion, I made a hard right and saw three fellas just standing. I focused my geriatric crawl in their direction and thankfully, Ben seemed to recognize the awkwardness about this lone, grinning girl and smiled big enough to beckon me over.

I found myself oddly intimidated by approaching three handsome fellas but they instantly hugged me hello and pretended I wasn’t their friend’s friend, inserting myself into their guy’s trip.

An adorable trio, Ben, Ian, and Joe were just the sweetest fellas. They were such happy gigglers and I never once caught them talking about serious things. It seemed their goal was to chuckle constantly and they achieved this objective effortlessly. As I’d been warned, Ben was so easy to make laugh and he would clap happily after anything and everything he enjoyed.

We wandered down the street, passing craft booths and artsy types that amused the fellas greatly. They stopped for drinks, BBQ, and free sunglasses before wandering back to the car to meet up with a friend. I happily climbed in with these three strangers, trusting that Will Hon would never donate me to maniacal deviants of any kind, no matter how charming and giggly.

And no, I didn’t take pictures of them. I was trying to seem cool.

We met Ben’s friend in a dark pub in a nice part of town and while they talked business, I entertained myself with the thought of a drinking water company who would sell their water in cheap plastic bottles for 79 cents. Rather than “Smart Water”, “Fresh Springs”,  or “Sparkling River” they would be simply called “Faucet Water” and I became tickled enough by this to attract attention. I of course didn’t tell them what I was laughing about and I apologized, waving them on back into their conversation about heavy machinery.

We arrived at the zoo with some time to kill before the concert. Welcoming us inside was a Billy Goat standing proudly atop a giant rock. As we got closer, we saw that half of his behind fur was missing and chucks of his wool were dangling off of his body. His legs trembled before the crowd and he laid down slowly as if waiting for death. It was awfully sad. Joe struggled to maintain his composure. A hotdog in one hand and a cup of water in the other, Joe bent at the waist, hiccupping out snorts and chuckles with his lips pressed tightly closed, a poorly-timed bite of hotdog hindering his gut busting laughter. I think it was defense laugher. He later apologized, stating “it wasn’t funny.”

Shortly after, they all laughed wildly at a creature called a “pocket gopher.”

The concert was in a grassy area next to the elephant pen. The guys chose a spot in the back, in the shade and while I hoped it wasn’t because I had warned them about my heat related daintiness, I would have absolutely fainted if they’d chosen anywhere else. It had been very hot all day and I did not feel well.

We wound up with lots of shady space to ourselves and it was here that I reaped the benefits of Ian’s subtly dry commentary. I caught Ian off in distant thought often but he never missed a chance to offer a witty retort or point out something hilarious with a relatively straight face.

I enjoyed the concert itself very much. T’was the kind of twang that you just have to tap your feet to. Ben waited patiently throughout the whole concert to find a grassy patch roomy enough to “jig” on. He bobbed his head and tapped his feet and busted out a few moves when he could take it no longer. He and Joe “jigged” heartily, stomping and jumping and swinging their arms. Ian strategically disappeared when the dancing began and showed back up when Ben and Joe finally came back over, panting and smiling hugely.

The chivalrous trio minded me like gentlemen all day and dropped me off at my door at the end of my Big Day Out. I'm smitten with these three as I never expected a group of men to all be so equally lovely. Theres always one bad, boring, or malodorous egg. But not here. I was surprised by Ben’s attentiveness, charmed by Joe’s thoughtful manners, and delighted by Ian’s sense of humor. And get this, they're all Yankees! 

It was nice to see that big men with serious jobs and important things to think about could be this refreshingly uncomplicated.

It was all very... Honbarrier.

Car Wash

Since my life now revolves around Omar, I've been waiting for his car to get here. He filled his car with his belongings and had it shipped across the country. I've waited patiently for the vehicle that was supposed to arrive here on the 3rd, then the 5th, then the 7th and finally showed up on the 9th. It was delivered by a jolly Russian man who blocked up the street to unload it from his truck. I was embarrassed by this. You know I hate causing a scene. But I inspected the car, made sure Omar's things were still inside, and paid the Russian man with an envelope of hundred dollar bills that he didn't even count. He gave me a receipt and then said, "Drive fast!" in reference to the angry folks waiting behind us.

Marmar's car must have been on the lower level of the truck, under a number of other cars. It was covered in oil that had dripped down along the drive. Dirt stuck to the oil like that stick of Big Red stuck to my wild mane in the third grade. I had to smear a clear patch in the windshield so that I could see to park it. When I cranked it up the gas light was on, the tire pressure light was flashing, there was no wiper fluid, and it smelled like the many truck stops it had visited. I parked that humiliating junker and ran inside for the night.

The next morning I took it out for a makeover. First I had to fill'er up. It's illegal to pump your own gas in Oregon. I cannot fathom why. You pull in to the gas station and an attendant will scurry out to your car and bang on the back of it for you to open the gas cap flap thing. You give them your card and tell them how much you want and then you sit awkwardly while they do it for you. As a gal from the south, I simply can't have someone doing me a favor without offering them some polite small-talk. I've been going to the same gas station since I've been here and I've gotten the same hispanic fella pumping my gas each time. He pretends not to remember me. "Hi!" I exclaim, thrilled to see his now familiar face. I rant about the weather and the complicated highway systems. He tolerates it but doesn't say much.
I pulled up in Omar's filthy clunker and he cocked his head like Buddy. I was sure I'd have him now. How could a gal get a car that dirty? And where's your 4Runner? He would ask these questions to his new friend with great curiosity.
"How much you want? he said abruptly. That was the end of our conversation.

I looked all over town for a car wash done by humans. I could only find drive thru's which I have never used before and was convinced it could not remove this caked on grime. It needed a good scrubbin'. As I drove aimlessly I found an empty, Do-It-Yourself Carwash hut. "Perfect!", I thought as I unknowingly pulled in through the exit. I stood a while, working out how to operate the various hoses and cleaning solutions. There appeared to be no one around overseeing things. I eventually found a rusty box asking for six quarters. I tossed them in and selected "soap" from the wheel of choices. Nothing happened. I waited. The hose on the ground next to me was sputtering some green liquid every 4 seconds or so. I dangled the hose over the car, moving it in 6 inch intervals after each dribble. Little here. Little there. I continued this dance for several minutes before I circled around the car to find a wall of foam expanding rapidly from a smaller hose-brush I hadn't noticed. The light pink foam formed a child size blob against the side of the car and it grew taller and taller with every passing second. I flung the hose-brush upwards, sending chunks of foam flying off in every direction. I tried scooping the pile up onto the side of the car. I began furiously scrubbing. The foam was coming out so quickly. I slid all around the car, trying to disperse the foam evenly while an ankle-deep moat formed around the car. The wind blew a tornado of bits in a circle above the car that settled in my hair and all down the backs of my legs. I abandoned the brush, dropping it to the ground to create another bear sized blob in a matter or moments. I ran to the rusty box and smacked the stop button. The foam blob melted into a puddle while chucks of soap oozed down the side of Omar's car.

Suddenly I heard a piercing beeping sound. I frantically searched for the problem and noticed I had caught the eye of two teenage boys at a smoothie place across the street. How humiliating. I finally found the source of the noise. Above my head was a red flashing countdown. I had thirty seconds to add more quarters or my time was up. I ran around and slid through the bubbles, screeching to a halt at the drivers door. I swung the door open which created a vortex that sucked all nearby foam into the car. My soapy fingers couldn't open my wallet so I began digging through Omar's cup holders and seat crevices. 10 seconds! The wind blew more foam inside. My jeans were beginning to sag with the weight of melted bubbles. I found three quarters and shoved them into the rusty box. The beeping stopped. I had purchased 2 more minutes. I picked up the other drippy hose, I turned the dial to rinse, and again I stood waiting. Moments later, water shot out of the hose with such force that it blew my body backwards several feet and into a brick wall.

I started to laugh. The boys across the street were thoroughly invested in the commotion and the shrill beeping had granted me one other viewer who was waiting for a bus. I straightened up my defeated body, somehow finding a new sense of determination to flee this scene even faster that I had wished before. I fixed the hose in my arms like a machine gun and I sprayed that pink car like it was Sonny Corleone.

Under the shade of the washing hut the car sparkled like new. There was no more caked on dirt and the windows were as see-through as Boozin' Susan's miniskirts. I proudly threw my machine gun hose to the ground, bobbing my head as I slowly rounded the car and hopped inside. I drove home and parked the car on the street corner, pleased to show off such a good-looking ride.

I woke up the next morning and headed for some grocery shopping. I walked past Omar's car on the way to mine and I noticed a neon orange envelope delicately tucked under a wiper blade. It actually occurred to me that it was a note from an envious neighbor, complementing the stunning ride. I approached the car and really looked at it for the first time since washing it. The car was still covered in oily smudges and foam residue. I was oddly surprised by this and found myself considering anger. I plucked the envelope off the car and flipped it over;

In Violation Of: 16.20.130-D
Blocking Handicapped Ramp
Amount Due: $210.00
Make checks or money orders payable to the State of Oregon.

Lonesome Ventures

As a lone gal in Portland I've really outdone myself. I've watched movies, googled things, called friends, taken naps, eaten snacks, and done some balcony sittin'.
Portland is actually a relatively quiet place. Downtown is busy and the highways stay crowded but everyone goes to work in the daytime and at night they eat vegan meals on flower covered patios and then disappear into their houses.
I 'aint got no friends, money, or jobs to do so I'm drowning in my own boredom. Since Omar's departure I've got no errands to run or deadlines to meet. I keep thinking about what I would do at home on a day off and I came up with kayaking, napping, and sitting with Mom.

So I found a big hill that looks over the whole city.

It is a park with hiking trails and lots of sunny grass to lay on. It's also where they keep the city's drinking water. There were three big reservoirs, one with a waterfall raining down into the big bowl.

I spent lots of time here sitting in the sun and cowering the shade. It's been quite hot here actually and though it's not like breathing through a wet washcloth like at home, it's still rotisserie-like. It's quite chilly at night and I sleep with the windows open so the cool breeze blows across my face and makes getting out from underneath the warm covers nearly impossible.

As for my plan, I'm staying until the 20th. Parv is coming up from San Fran for a visit sometime next week and then I'm off again. I've made no official Workaway plans but fear not. I have a stratgey.
Sort of.

Dwellings

I've checked out of RuPaul's guesthouse and relocated myself and my belongings to Omar's. Marmar is out of town for the next (almost) three weeks so I'm holding down his fort free of charge. It's thrilling to have a space of my own. I have my own tiny kitchen and living room. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I never once saw Nina.

Now that Marmar is out of my way, I can really transform his home. I've got so many ideas! But that will come later     ...after I pick up a dishwashing job for a bit of extra cash. Or perhaps tap-dancing on street corners.

I've gotten photographic evidence of my previous and new whereabouts just as you've asked. I'll start with my old room. Ta-Da!!

This is where I've been living. It was a perfectly reasonable space in a nice new house but I tried to stay in there always. I had a shelf in the fridge and a cubby in the freezer. I'd wait until David left for "work" and come downstairs and make egg sandwiches for breakfast. I'd wash my pots and dishes by hand and then put them right back where I found them. Davina (that's David and Nina put together) have two precious blue steelers and I love them. It hurt me to leave them. They would charge towards me when I came in and jump and lick my face. If Dave was around he would restrain them while I ran upstairs. The pups and I would sit on the patio in the morning and talk about life. They told me that Buddy isn't mad that I'm gone but that he does miss his gal.

Gosh literally everyone in Portalnd has a dog. There is one dog on the street for every two people. It kills me. I have to stop myself from running up and squeezing the dogs and rolling around on the sidewalk with them. I miss Buddy so much.

Marmar's place is on a smaller, woodsy version of King Street. It's called Mississippi Avenue and it's known for it's restaurants and music venues. It's exciting being this close to things and when I need something, I just go downstairs, open the door, and the world is at my feet. The place is dangerously close to a pod of Food Trucks.
The apartment is very small but it has everything you need, high ceilings and lots of windows. There is also a cute little balcony with a view of some roofs and mountains.

 I mostly use the balcony to spy on other residents. A bunch of them smoke lots of weed and talk about going back to school in the fall. There is one frightening looking man who I noticed walks in and out of his unit all day and yesterday, put a sensationally noisy miter saw in the courtyard where he made shelves for hours. It went on until about 8:30 at night and there is no AC here so you have to keep the windows open.

These two were having an argument.

I realize I shouldn't listen and take pictures but if you're gonna do it in public, you're setting yourself up. First rule of people watching.

It also doesn't help that I was raised by a woman who keeps binoculars under the window so she can look at "the view."

So it's just me again for a while. I'm waiting on my rock climbing friend to get back to Portland and also a girl I used to work with who I still haven't told I'm here. I don't know why I haven't called her.

I'm excited to see her! Maybe I'll do that today. It's amazing how you can fill your time with nonsense.

Portland Zoo

Omar and I went to the zoo. T'was a lovely zoo, just a little ways out of town and filled with foreign visitors. T'was a dense forest full of animal wonder. I think it's the nicest zoo I've visited. You were always walking through something lovely, even between exhibits. We saw bears, monkeys, hippos, elephants, giraffes, and other depressed lords of the animal kingdom. We also saw a number of obese visitors and a gaggle of screaming children.

Omar is quite a big bear fan. We watched the bears wrestle and pace and casually stroll through their own droppings. They were so furry and huggable. I loved their little feet and rounded behinds.

We enjoyed the perfect weather as we strolled past a pen of bobcats. We reluctantly traveled with a pack of people who always managed to catch up to us when we plowed ahead and also bogged us down with strollers and their rambunctious, handsy children. While we walked through a woodsy area to look at a blind bald eagle, we remarked about the beautiful scenery and the lovely day. I looked up at Omar and something caught my eye just behind him. I looked down and saw a black, orangoutang-size creature charging towards us on all fours through a hollowed out tree. I gasped and screamed. Omar looked over, shrieked and the both of clung on to each other in a blind panic. We could hear the little stomps getting closer. I was jumping and stomping my feet. Omar was silent and still. The creature emerged from the log, only three feet away. 

It was a little Indian boy.

People looked on in confusion. We of course began laughing riotously. Omar walked off with a confident stride while I stood, bent at waist with my hands on my knees. People looked at us with blank faces and only one Chinese teenager had seen what happened and chuckled to himself. 

I had thought an animal had escaped and was making a run for it. Omar says he reacted trusting that the loss of my typically calm demeanor meant it must really be grounds for panic. He says he blacked out as soon as he saw a blob headed his way.

Other highlights of our visit included handfuls of Wonka Runts and Omar tripping over a number of curbs. He also became frustrated by the amount of literature on the information plaques. He wanted less words and more pictures. He was excited by a children's plaque asking simple questions who's answers sat under little sliding doors at child level. He scampered over to find out "Who's tracks are these?" and he lifted a little door to a whole paragraph of text. He slammed the little door and shouted, "What is this, China?"

We then noticed we were in a sea of Asians.

We enjoyed our visit to the zoo but it was an emotional roller coaster. The shock, terror, hilarity and handfuls of candy really took a toll. We yawned constantly on our 20 minute drive home and though we had planned to head back out after a bathroom break and a glass of water, I sat down on the sofa and woke up three hours later.

Twenty Four

I honor of my slow but steady decline into old age, Omar took me out for a day of whatever I wanted. So first, we went to Multnoma Falls.

It started out a nice day, a bit overcast, but that’s the standard out here. We hopped on the highway and ventured east. It started raining a little. “Don’t you worry.” Omar said, “Portland is known for little sprinkly storms. It’ll rain a few minutes and then stop.” Just then it came pouring down, almost horizontally. Omar looked at me with guilt. We pressed on through the rain for twenty minutes and arrived to the Falls just as it let up. “See.” he said smugly. We jumped out of the car and headed for the path through the woods and were greeted by more rain. So we made a run for it. We ran up to the waterfall, shoved through other prepared tourists with rain coasts and umbrellas, snapped a few pictures, and slid back to the car in 10 minutes. “Done. What’s next?” Omar asked. 

“Mt. Hood!” I exclaimed, so we set out. Along the way and by my request, we stopped at Popeye’s for lunch. “This is your birthday lunch?” Marmar asked judgmentally. I love those biscuits. “We don’t have Popeye’s in Charleston.” I retorted. So I sat happily with my box of fried chicken on a plastic white chair in a  duel Popeye’s/Diesel Gas Station convenience store. We followed the road signs from Multnoma to “Mt. Hood C.C.” We drove and drove and never saw any kind of mountain. It was when we were five miles from our destination that I realized the C.C. stood for Community College. The real Mt. Hood was hours away. 

So instead, we headed back to Portland and Omar surprised me with a visit to a Chinese Garden. Omar has no interest in plants unless they are used to add pizzazz to his meals, so this was big of him to endure. It was a lovely garden in the center of the city. It was very quiet and serene but also a little repetitive. 

To spice thing up, Omar decided we should go have tea. In the garden was a little tea-house, decorated with short Chinese furniture, cushions, and tea pots. There was an ancient Chinese man playing a one stringed instrument in the corner and the waitstaff wore silky red, Asian shirts. We plopped down at a table and were given two giant menus of tea. Neither of us know much about tea but everyone around was taking things so seriously that we pretended to read over our options. The humorless waitress made her way back to our table. “Have you selected a tea, Sir?” she asked Omar.

“Yes.” he said, with an air of superiority, “We’ll try this one.” and he pointed haphazardly.

Moments later, our tea arrived and I instantly recognized the smell. It was a pet store smell, like the cedar chips you put in the bottom of a gerbil cage. Omar cautiously raised the cup to his lips, took a little sip, and delicately placed it back down on the table.

“My.” he said, “It’s like licking a hamster… against the grain.”

We suffered through our cups of tea, laughing mid-sip and politely refusing more hot water each time they came around. We threw a dollar at the music man and ran up out of that tea-house as fast as we could.

To top off my birthday celebrations, we had the most delicious (and I mean most delicious) tacos for dinner and then we had ice cream. The very best ice cream.