South, south, south. Through Miami and outer environs, and on into crocodile country. The bottom tip of Flahrida on the way to the Keys is part of the Everglades. I kept peeping out the windows waiting to see a 'gator or a croc. The highway was peppered with signs declaring stretches of road to be "Crocodile Crossing"s. Alas and alack, I sighted nary a one.
Halo took some pictures anyway. The drive down is breathtaking. There are miles of highway built over the open ocean, leapfrogging from key to key.
Once in Key West, we went straight to the beach, and Halo made sand castles. I helped.
We checked in to the
Seashell Motel. Key West is stuffed with quaint B&Bs in old, pretty houses with verandas, but all the ones that we called were booked, and expensive anyway. The Seashell turned out to be a great find. Our room was big and airy and clean. There was a foyer of sorts outside our door with a cabinet stacked with games and books, and a table & chairs in the room for playing. It's also a hostel, and there were a few backpackers milling around the courtyard, speaking French and German.
We went downtown, walked around, looked at the water, ate pizza, and played pinball. Halo was pretty good at it! I miss pinball. Back at the Seashell, C. and H. and I played a rousing round of Sorry!
In the morning, we walked to a great breakfast place called
Camille's. They have yummy buckwheat pancakes and, according to Zagat's, the world's best key lime pie. Friendly waitstaff and cool posters. Except the waiter talked Halo out of a buckwheat pancake, which he had decided for himself, and into a buttermilk pancake. It was the waiter's opinion that the buttermilk pancakes are more like "real" pancakes and that Halo would like it better. Cluck cluck cluck. If I were a macrobiotic mother, I'd'a gone batshit crazy on the guy. Luckily the kid was a loaner.
Key West has been home to many famous people, including Jimmy Buffet and Tennessee Williams. Its most famous past resident is undoubtedly Ernest Hemingway.
I wanted to visit his house, but was worried that it would be boring for Halo. But he loves the music of
Matt the Electrician, a friend of ours, who has a song about Hemingway. So he was familiar with the name and game to go to "
Hemmy's house", as he kept calling it. We played the song a few times, which is about not having read any of Hemmy's books. It's called "I'm Sorry Hemingway."
I needn't have worried. Hemmy's house is home to sixty cats, many of them polydactyl - having six toes on each foot. We kept a running count as we toured Papa Hemmy's home. Sixty six-toed cats. Leaping lizards! That's enough to keep any eight-year-old occupied.
After that, we visited Bruce and Brandon Lee. I hadn't been there in awhile. Peace to them.
Stopping for gas at a Mom&Pop filling station along the way.
As soon as we got into the city, we made a beeline for Papalote, which I've mentioned before, and is my favorite burrito place in the Mission. We stayed with B-Doll, who works at the Starlight Room at the top of the Sir Francis Drake Hotel in Union Square. We met up with her there and hung out amidst big-spenders and champagne-drinkers under velvet and chandeliers. Funny.
B-doll lives in Berkeley, so when C mentioned that he'd never had Ethiopian food, I knew we had to go. Especially since it's one of the things I make sure to eat every time I return to the States, and the East Bay has tons of it. So we just drove down Telegraph until we found a place, Ethiopia Restaurant. It didn't disappoint. We also ate yummy gelato at the place which used to be Mondo Gelato but is now called something else and is next to the Downtown Bart station on Shattuck. And we ate falafel on the grass at Cal. And pizza in Petaluma. And I'll stop now, but oh! The food! I miss it!
Holly and Cleavon's wedding was beautiful and also awesome. And Holly was gorgeous in her dress that she made herself. I can't wait until she finishes her MFA and I can pimp out her designs to everyone I know. They had a Latin-flavor drumline perform at the ceremony. No "Here Comes the Bride" poppycock. So neato.
These kids thought so too.
Tanya showed me a little scene that's developed recently, and wasn't there when I lived in Portland. It's the food carts on Hawthorne, at about 12th or 13th street. This spot was buzzing until late at night the three times we went; I'm not sure how late exactly, but were surely still going at midnight on the weekend. The Mexican cart has a whole bunch of vegan burritos, including a cactus one; and the cart next to it sells fried vegan pies. I was in deep-fried heaven, with a tofu pot pie and a coconut cream pie. Wow.
Oh yeah, and Rocco's now has vegan pizza. What.
(Displaying the kind of stamps that are no longer sold.)
And it still looks like this on the outskirts, where Tyler and Michelle had their wedding. We spent a lot of time as teenagers wandering around in the fields, filching corn and peaches.
Mac and me in our wedding gear.
I miss this place.
Eagle Creek is a creek, trail, and camping area in the Columbia Gorge, just a short drive from Portland. I first heard about it from Mac and Tyler, who went camping there last year.
Tyler took me swimming at Punchbowl Falls last summer, and it was gorgeous. So I proposed this place when PP and I started talking about hiking and camping. Punchbowl falls is about two miles in, and you can camp after about three miles. It's a steep, hot hike, especially in the 100º+ weather that we had when we went. But the falls and the swimmin' hole are freezing cold, and alleviate the heat quickly. 
After getting back on the trail, we soon got hot again, lugging our huge packs. We took a rest at a little clearing four miles in, and PP was starting to get a defeated look in his eye. I wandered a little deeper into the forest... and found a waterfall. The trail is dotted with them, but unlike Punchbowl, this one was tucked back away from the trail and deserted. No kids performing daredevil stunts. Just... rushing bliss, punctuated by the white noise of the falls crashing down. 
And looking up, nothing but conifers...
I was also really excited to eat as much Cuban food as possible, and to drink Cuban coffee. We went out two nights to different places. The first place was The Cuban Café, which was casually upscale with a friendly host. The food was tasty, and the coffee was especially good. The second place, The Caribbean Grill (1332 NW 2nd Avenue ), was more of a dive. But I liked it more, and the food was better, especially the congris – Cuban style beans and rice. Yum! I could eat this with maduros and yucca all day. Washed down by batidos de banana o coco, and café.
The driver, grinning, drove us badly to the hotel, stopping ten minutes into his route to fuel up the rig. The clerks at the hotel were brusque, verging on rude. One called Ashika sighed as she checked us in, as if we were ruining her day by taking up rooms.
It's good to be back.
