In a Regatta Da Vida

I may not be traveling in some far-off destination, but I'm seeing Cleveland in a whole new way this summer as part of a rowing crew. I now have a unique way to explore every bend of the crooked river that winds its way through the city. Along the banks of the Cuyahoga River in downtown Cleveland are small parks, sculptures, tug boats, water birds and rock climbers, in addition to the less pleasant rotting machinery, "exotic" smells and dead, bloated rats floating downstream.
Every Wednesday evening at 5 p.m.—rain or shine—our team is preparing to get on the water, extracting oars and the 60-foot-long shell from the boathouse at the Western Reserve Rowing Association.

Most of us are novice rowers, meaning we had no experience with the sport before the Summer Rowing League started back in May. So, during practice, we've been going through basic drills, focusing on form and timing. We are also learning the catchphrases used in rowing—some times first hand; in the last few weeks, for example, I've "caught a crab" and I've used a "cox box." For the definitions, please refer to the Wikipedia page on rowing.

All of this has been preparing us for competition. During the 15-week league, we have three regattas, in which we race against other teams in the program. Our first was yesterday (Saturday, June 23). We really had no idea what to expect. When we arrived at the boathouse, the festive music was pumping, the league organizers were making announcements over the loudspeaker and rowers were picnicking on the banks of the river waiting for their team to be called.

We participated in two heats, and we smoked our competition. Our first race was completed in two minutes and 54 seconds. In the following race, we cut our previous time by two seconds. Both times, our competitors were at least four length behind us as we crossed the finish line. It felt really good to win, of course, but we still have a long way to go. Experienced rowing teams were finishing their races about 15 seconds faster.

FRONT ROW: Erin, Nancy, Lea and me; BACK ROW: Bruce (who filled in as our coxwain), Gloria, Wendy, Martha and Denny; NOT PICTURED: Sara, Heidi, Joanne, Stephanie

Dancing Around the World

I just happened across this video from a guy named Matt, who created a Web site called "Where the Hell is Matt?" for his family to chart his travels around the world. As you might expect after viewing the video below, he picked up quite a following—so, a candy manufacturer sponsored his next trip around the world.

Boats, buses and a bucolic bed & breakfast

Wednesday, we transitioned from an island resort to a rural hacienda near the border with Guatemala. We opted to take a ferry to the coastal town of La Ceiba, then take the bus from La Ceiba to Copan Ruinas.

The ferry ride was easy (Serge gave us a good tip beforehand: buy the first-class ticket on the ferry, as your luggage comes off first). The bus company was organized, even if a bit slow in processing tickets. Security was tight, and a photo was taken of each passenger as they boarded the vehicle. I wondered if the measure was for our security or just to help identify bodies if the bus is hijacked by rebels. In all seriousness, Honduras is generally safe for travelers.

We arrived at La Hacienda San Lucas just as the sun was about to disappear over the mountains beyond the valley. It was a truly magical time. The ranch hands were just beginning to light the thousands of candles and oil lamps that bask the 100-year-old property in a golden glow.

The main house of the structure houses two kitchens (one is the original, which contains a traditional oven), a sitting area and the reception desk. A door leads out to the restaurant on the front patio.

Up a step hill are the two guest houses with four bedrooms each. The beds are covered with colorful Guatemalan bedspreads, and pillows made of woven mat material (the matting was used by Mayan royalty, and is a symbol of political power). The candles were already lit for us and black soot covered the white stuccoed walls above them.

Just outside the room hang two hammocks where we've spent several hours each day napping, reading or hanging out with the resident dogs, Luco, K'inich and Popi. Photo albums in the main house show them all as puppies, when the hacienda's owner, Flavia, moved to Honduras and began to restore the property, which had belonged to her grandfather.

Flavia, originally from this region, moved to Kentucky in her teens to attend a private high school. She went on to college, married, had kids, started a catering business, and eventually divorced--all in the United States. Her grown children thought she was crazy when she said she was going to return to her homeland and live at the hacienda. They said it was "her menopause project."

She couldn't be happier, she tells me on Thursday. However, she says she's a little crazed at the moment getting ready for a large dinner party that evening. Earlier in the week, the hacienda received a reservation for a party of 60 from the Ministry of Honduran Tourism. She appears to be keeping her cool, though, as she sits in the entry way smoking a cigarette. Around her, though, is a flurry of activity among her employees. One is replacing the flower arrangements with fresh stems of tropical flowers, an older woman is grinding corn to make tortillas, 12-year-old Octulio is raking the flowerbeds.

As sun was setting, the mariachi band arrived to set up and began playing some traditional tunes. That's when we and the rest of the guests left to go into town for dinner.

West End Girls and Boys

We had some time to kill before leaving Roatan for mainland Honduras, so we left the cushy confines of the resort and wandered out to the street to catch a taxi to West End, where the budget-minded travelers tend to congregate. The taxis work two ways: you can take a regular taxi for $5, or you can take a colectivo taxi for $1.50. The latter is where the taxi will stop and pick up other passengers until its full.

The taxi we hailed already had a passenger, so we hopped in the back seat. The guy in front, Tony (from Seattle), had just arrived on Roatan from Guatemala. He had no idea where he was going to stay, but he did know he wanted some kind of dive package.

We invited him to lunch, so that he could peruse our Lonely Planet guidebook.

We had planned to eat at a place called "Galley," but when we got there, we found that it had changed hands and opened as the "Pasta Factory at the Galley." The Italian woman running it said she kept the name Galley to capitalize on the previous tenants entry in the Lonely Planet guidebook. Obviously, she´s getting traffic, because here we are.

In a it's-a-small-world way, Serge, our refresher course instructor, rolled up on his motorbike and ambled onto the porch of the restaurant. "This is my wife's place," he said. "We invested everything we had in opening it."

Serge gave Tony some advice on cheaper places with dive packages, and then showed me his "baby"--a tiny Rottweiler, only weeks old.

After lunch, we parted ways with Tony as he wandered off looking for lodging. We were just looking to look.

West End is a laid back Key West-like town with a dusty unpaved road with nautical rope stretch across it to serve as speed bumps. During the day, it is rather quiet since most everyone is out on (or under) the water. At night, the party gets underway and goes all night.

In front of one West End bar called the Buccaneer hung an Ohio State flag. I couldn't resist finding out who and why. I walked into the empty bar and up to the first person I saw in the empty establishment. Pam Wilbur told me that her husband, John, and her son, Dave, moved permanently to Roatan from Columbus in 2003. The bought 10 acres on which they are developing condominiums and a hotel that will be finished in the next six months. John Wilbur had been a developer in the States, and Pam had been a caterer, which made opening a bar pretty simple.

The only problem, she said, was finding good employees. She was willing to give me a job on the spot. "And, it's easy to get a work permit here. We thought about movng to Belize, but the work permit was taking too long. My son got one here right away."

Dave ushered us into his four-wheel drive and took us up the hill to see the units that were under construction, as well as the hotel, then drove us back to the main road and we headed back to the resort.

Field Trip

When I was in high school, the kinds of field trips we took were to the art museum or the zoo. And as you might imagine, the highlight was eating lunch at McDonalds.

For 18 students from Worthington Christian High School in Columbus, Ohio, the highlight of their field trip to the Roatan Institute of Marine Sciences, located at Anthony's Key Resort, has been to interact with the dolphins.

Yeah, you heard me. These kids get a week off of school to travel a million miles away, and study marine biology in a warm, tropical environment. Oh, but they are taking classes while they are here. And there will be a test, says Debbie Walton, their science teacher and chaperone.

All of them spent weeks leading up to their visit studying reef biology, socking their money away and getting scuba certified. That way they were ready to jump in on arrival.

Well, I got my dream-come-true field trip today, too, when I got to snorkel with the 8 dolphins at the institute. For an hour-and-a-half, I swam alongside these creatures in the lagoon at the resort, watching their natural behavior...nothing like the fins and flipper-type show I've seen in the past.

They are a little hesitant to approach at first, so we're given an introduction by a trainer who talks about their physiology, life span, behavior and anything else we could think about asking. Cebena was the dolphin that we were formally introduced to. She is 21 years old, and her child is a year-and-a-half old. After the demonstration, we did the cheesy, touristy pictures--the dolphin kissing my check, etc.

But after all of that, we attached fins, put on the mask and snorkel, and went deeper into the water. Cebena and her child found me first and slipped past in such close proximity that I was bobbing in their wake. Another pair of dolphins were demonstrating sex education. The others were goofing around, nipping at each other and teasing snorkelers. All the while, you could here them communicating to each other through their blowholes.

They truly are amazing to watch, especially beneath the surface of the water. I never need to see the silly tricks dolphins are trained to do again. And then, Cebena waves her flipper at me to say goodbye.

Ups and Downs, and a Few Bends

My day started with a trip to the medical clinic located at Anthony's Key Resort (AKR), which not only services guests, but also members of the community. Because the public health system is limited in what it can provide--plus, the hospital is subject to frequent power outages--AKR's owner, Julio Gallindo Sr., founded the clinic at the resort. Unlike the hospital in Roatan, the power is on 24/7 at AKR, which is like its own town, complete with its own water treatment facility and power plant.

Dependability is the key, especially when you're suffering from the bends and require treatment in the property's hyperbaric chamber.

Luckily, I didn't require that kind of treatment.

Instead, I was being treated for a inflamed eustachian tube. On a severity scale of 1 to 5 (with the latter indicating a perforation), I am somewhere between a 4 and 5, the doctor tells me. He gives me an anti-inflammatory and a decongestant. And now for the bad news, he says: "No diving for the rest of your stay." That means no night dive tonight.

I suppose it could have been a lot worse. After all, the hyperbaric chamber was actually in use by some unlucky fellow as I sat in the waiting room. The chamber itself is the centerpiece of the room. The man inside is displayed on a monitor that sits on top of the apparatus. The technician administering the oxygen to the patient explained that the chamber is used nearly 120 times a year, but seldom is it needed by recreational divers (which account for maybe 20 a year).

Instead, commercial fisherman--like this man--risk their lives every day in order to make a living doing nearly 15 deep dives a day to retrieve lobster from the sea floor. Many don't have any problems for years, but eventually, their practices get the better of them, and they require treatment for decompression sickness. And for some of these guys, going to the hyperbaric chamber is like going to the bar after a hard days work.

For the next 12 days, this man will have to suck pure oxygen for a couple hours a day before he will be allowed back in the water.

I, on the other hand, will still have the opportunity to snorkel with the dolphins.

On the Boat Again...

"A bad day diving is better than a good day at work."

Various stickers are plastered at the AKR dock where a boat shuttles resort guests between their island cabanas and the main resort. But this sticker stands out among them, especially today. Based on the previous day's experience, Chris couldn't disagree more.

However, he's ready to give diving another try--albeit hesitantly.

Peace has returned to Roatan after a night of heavy storms, which is unseasonable for the month of April. Waves battered the deck of our cabana all night, and the colorful hammocks bashed against the railings. Even though the sea was still churning by morning, the sun appeared over the mountain, and it looked like it would be a good day for scuba diving, which was rescheduled for the south side of the island where the waters are calmer.

"Don't worry, Chris," says Frank, the divemaster. "It'll be no problem today."

Frank kept his word.

Throughout the day, we were treated to a healthy barrier reef (the second largest in the world after the Great Barrier Reef) chocked full of pillar, tube and barrel sponges "you can fit a cow in," magestic eagle rays, lobsters, green moray eels, barracuda, parrotfish, gigantic grouper and variety of tropical fish that I can't identify--despite having gone last night to the "School of Fish," an informative fish identification class that is presented once a week by Sergio Luperto, the newest divemaster at AKR.

Part of what makes fish identification so difficult is that the fish change dramatically over the course of their lives. Take for example, the Damselfish. As a juvenile, it looks like a disco ball with it's shiny white dots on it's midnight blue scales. But as it ages, its color changes, it develop stripes, and only the tell-tale disco dots on its dorsal fin give it away.

The highlight was seeing the spotted eagle ray with its six-foot wingspan. It caught one glimpse of us and turned around and shot off deeper into the abyss, and we headed in the opposite direction--back to the surface--with a renewed fondness for underwater exploration.

Now we truly can say that we'd rather be diving than spending our afternoon at a office desk.

Dive In

Roatan is a mecca for scuba divers from around the world, and Anthony's Key Resort (AKR) is a mecca for divemasters looking for a job on the island. Serge, a divemaster, has spent two years living in Roatan, working at various dive shops, but when he had the opportunity to work full time at AKR just two weeks ago, he jumped at the chance. "This is where everyone wants to be," he says. "It's the best outfit in Roatan and in the Caribbean, in my opinion."

Serge is helping me and my husband get reacquainted with diving. It's been just over two years since we dove in Cozumel and we're feeling a little rusty. A refresher course costs $85, but it's worth it from a safety standpoint. After walking us through the steps of assembling the equipment, we dove into the shallows and went through a series of drills--regulator recovery; underwater mask clearing, buoyancy control; and air sharing with a buddy with a low air supply. With a submerged high-five, we passed with flying colors. By 10:30 we were on our assigned dive boat, Trevor, ready to take the plunge.

But that's where the fun ends. Looking out into the Caribbean Sea, boats are being tossed two and fro. It looks like a storm is brewing. I have flashbacks to a boat ride in Peru that I experienced through a Dramamine-induced haze. The boat lilts left and right, and I keep my eyes focused on the now-distant shoreline. "Just get me in the water," I say to the Scuba gods as I gag slightly. "And I'll be fine."

I jumped in and felt instantly better, but my husband wasn't as lucky. He made it under the water, but his breakfast rose to the surface. The boat's dive master, Frank, pulled him to the rocking boat(where he spent the next 50 minutes, while the rest of us were plowing calmer waters at 80-foot depths), while I bobbed at the surface wondering what was going on. Frank motioned at me to descend.

When Frank returned, I buddied up with him and drifted along a rainbow-hued coral reef on my right side. With a divemaster as a buddy, I got the best seat in the house. He knew where to look for creatures from the depths, spotting gigantic crabs tucked into crevices. But it was I who noticed the sea turtle swimming on the sandy bottom.

Returning to the surface was like the shock a child must feel when it emerges from the womb during birth. I sputtered as the deep, blue calm gave way to overwhelming surges of water. The boat made an unsuccessful bid to retrieve us and looped around again. Some of the waves obsured my view of the vessel, which made things disorienting. I imagined what it must be like for rescue divers with the Coast Guard, braving the high seas (Yes, Kevin Costner and Ashton Kutcher flashed through my mind momentarily).

Once on board, the waves of nausea made me stomach turn, and soon I was bent over the side of the boat next to my beloved spouse, who was oblivious to my predicament. I can't say that this was the way we envisioned spending our vacation.

Once we were on land again, we all compared experiences, as though we were exchanging war stories.

"That was pretty rough. It was rougher than anything I encountered in the ocean," said Charlie McCoy, a kidney specialist from Rhode Island, who experienced rougher ocean waters during a boat race last year from Rhode Island to Bermuda. His family are diving together in Roatan, and this dive was one of the first for his 14-year-old daughter, Bridget. "I was worried about her. Her gear was just as heavy as she is."

Bridget did great, though. That is, until her mother puked in her lap. "I'm taking a shower first," Bridget exclaimed.

E-mail Changes

I want to apologize for my rusty blogging skills. I haven't been on the blog since last August, and in that time my e-mail address changed. However, I didn't change it in the Yahoo Group settings until after I posted yesterday and realized my error. So, if you responded to the e-mail you received from blake54@comcast.net, you may have received a notice that the e-mail could not be delivered. The glitch has been fixed and my new e-mail address should be listed properly now. It should be the "netscape.net" account.

V!VA List Latin America Released

I've written my first book. Well, that's not exactly true.

A travel essay I wrote about the Lord of Sipan was accepted for publication in a compilation of travel stories.

V!VA List, Latin America is the first-ever armchair travel book created by an online community of travelers, writers and photographers. Packed with colorful essays and striking photographs, the 350-page book is designed to inspire readers to journey south (or north, east, or west!) and experience exotic Latin American culture and its extraordinary places.

If you're interested in more information, visit the V!VA List Web site or just click on the Amazon link at the right-hand side of the page and help me earn a little spending money for my next trip.

In other news
Speaking of trips, the next journey will begin on Saturday, Apr. 14, with an insanely early flight to the island of Roatán. I plan to post on our adventures, so stay tuned. Those of you who are signed up to receive e-mail alerts when I post to the blog (such as this one), please do not respond directly to the automated e-mail itself as it will be sent to everyone on the list. AND, if you would like to be removed the list, please let me know!

First Stop, Cleveland

When Brook Silva-Braga announced he was quitting his job to spend a year traveling around the world, his coworkers said it was a great idea; however, his boss confided that some of them were whispering, “There’s the idiot . . . the one who’s giving it up.”

But like many of those who have caught the travel bug, he was determined to make it happen by conceiving what would become “A Map for Saturday,” a documentary film about the experience of long-term solo travel.

“The idea for the film was really an excuse to take the trip without feeling like I’d thrown away a career I’d been working towards since high school,” says Silva-Braga. “I had no idea if the film would ever be seen, but I felt that if I worked hard on it, good things would happen.”

After leaving his camera bag on a bus seven months into the journey, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I took a bus from Dublin to Belfast one afternoon. I was always taking a bus,” he says. “I walked from the bus station to a hostel . . . and put my bag down at the reception desk. But my small bag was missing—the bag with my camera in it. So I went running back to the bus station. After about ten minutes a guy came walking from the garage with my camera bag in his hand, and I was very, very relieved.”

Despite a few setbacks, “A Map for Saturday” made its world premiere at the Cleveland International Film Festival last night, and had audiences reminiscing about their own travel experiences.

“The film inevitably reminds people of the good times they’ve had on the road themselves,” Silva-Braga says. “And I hope it inspires some of them to take the leap and do a long trip.”

Editor's note: Brook Silva-Braga's new film "One Day in Africa" is premiering at the Cleveland International Film Festival on Thursday, March 26, 2008.

Theater in the Round

This is my last post from across the pond. The sun has set on what was a glorious final day in London.

We started at the street markets along Portabello Road in Notting Hill. Despite just having had breakfast, I couldn't resist a cupcake at the Hummingbird Bakery.

And finally, our day ended in Shakespeare's Globe Theater where we saw The Comedy of Errors. The acting was splendid (yes, I'm adopting English phrases). The open-air theater, which opened in 1991, is a faithful replica of the original theater located not far from where it now stands.

Speaking of standing, we were groundlings--we had $10 standing-room only tickets. On one hand, we were right in front of the stage, and on the other, we had to stand the entire show. Luckily it was only an hour and a half long. Plus, it was a comedy, which I quite enjoyed. Anyone who knows me knows I dislike the tragedies tremendously--having been dragged to all of them at least once during my ten-year marriage.

So, as the evening draws to a close on our last day in jolly ol' England, I am pleased to say this has been a great anniversary trip. I just hope the security situation at the airport tomorrow morning doesn't leave a bad taste in my mouth.

And for those of you waiting for photos, I will post a few once I am home.

CHEERS!

War Room

Even if you're not into war history, you might enjoy a visit to the Cabinet War Rooms, part of the two-year-old Churchill Museum. Churchill used these underground bunkers to conduct World War II and protect himself from the bombs falling all over the city. The day the war ended, the rooms were locked up with all of their contents and forgotten until Margaret Thatcher gave the OK to open them.

We wandered through the map room, where a map of world covered a long wall. In the Atlantic Ocean are clusters of pinholes where shipping boats had been destroyed by German U-boats.

On another map, one of the cabinet members had doodled a drawing of Hitler. There must have been a lull in the bombing campaign.

The museum is located near 10 Downing Street and the House of Parliament (Big Ben).

THe visit to the museum was part of a day-long excursion in the heart of London. We walked everywhere and are completely exhausted now!

The whole world in my hands

It is possible to travel the whole world by just visiting the British Museum. I spent most of my time in Africa, especially Egypt. The museum has an astonishing quantity of statues and mummies (including Cleopatra). As much as I enjoy seeing these artifacts, they would have more meaning, or context, if they were returned to Egypt. There is an ongoing battle between the museum and Egypt over the return of some of these treasures that had been plundered by the British. And recently, I believe, Greece recovered some of its things.

Ever since I visited Actun Tunichil Maknal, I am in favor of having artifacts left where they are found. The cave in Belize had been thoroughly explored and documented by an archaeologist who left everything in situ. I was able to see the exact location where the Mayans had performed ritualistic deaths--the bones of the "chosen ones" in a pile on the ground with pottery shards laying all around.

A pot in a case in a museum doesn't tell me a story. Nontheless, I was most looking forward to the British Museum, despite my beliefs. The most famous if its treasures is the Rosetta Stone, which made the translation of certain hieroglyphics possible.

The museum offers free tours of the various exhibits and we purposely chose Africa (not including Egypt) to learn more about the continent. We
were the only ones to show up for the talk, so it was totally worth it.

In the three hours we spent in the museum, I have selected more travel destinations. So, it was quite fitting that we would stumble upon the world's largest travel bookstore while wandering through Covent Garden. Stanford's has three levels of books, travel gear and much more. I was in heaven. I didn't buy anything. The prices are double what they are stateside.

London calling

I have been indoctrinated.

As we passed deeper and deeper inside the Cadbury chocolate factory, we were told again and again by holographic 19th century figures that Cadbury was awesome in every way.

The company was one of the first to offer benefits to the factory workers, it built schools and hospitals for the town in which it built its factory and most importantly, it made sure its chocolate was of the highest quality. I wasn't going to argue--I had my mouth full of the full-size candy bars they pass out during the tour.

The highlight was being able to select some kind of treat and have it covered in thick, gooey, liquid hot chocolate. Unfortunately, we had to endure the cheesiest of the holographic presentations to reach that room.

Cheese and chocolate do not go well together.

Armed with plenty of chocolate, we made our journey to London, stopping briefly in Stratford-Upon-Avon to visit the grave of William Shakespeare.

Last night, at the stroke of 10 o'clock, we were locked up in the Tower of London. Not every tourist can say they've been locked up in the tower where Ann Boleyn lost her head. Well, only about 50 a night. Free tickets for the Ceremony of the Keys must be requested two months in advance.

It was pretty cool.

Roundabouts and chocolate

What do Duran Duran and the Cadbury bunny have in common?

They both have roots in Birmingham, England.

We actually thought we would have made it further south on Monday, but the roads, signs and roundabouts are confusing. Yesterday morning, it took hours to find the town of Roslin, which is only 12 miles south of Edinburgh, despite having a sheet of instructions given to us.

The hundreds of people that were at the Roslin Chapel when we arrived didn't seem to have any problem getting there. Our visit was worth it. The chapel has a fascinating history, not all of it related to the fame it received when Dan Brown wrote about it in the DaVinci Code. Even though scaffolding covers the entire church on the outside, it allows the visitor to climb around at roof level. It's definitely unique to get that perspective and get a closeup view of the spires with their rose carvings.

The inside is even better. The masons that built it included many fine details representing a mixture of pagan, Christian and local history.

From Roslin, we headed south into England stopping for a hike along Hadrian's wall. We had hoped to ride bikes, but the weather wasn't cooperating (and riding on the narrow, hilly and winding roads would have been scary--a couple of times I drove over a hill encountering a cyclist just over the summit).

We finally stumbled into Birmingham after dark and after taking a few wrong roads. I had some caffeine to keep me going, but I calculated its consumption based on an on-time arrival. Needless to say, I found myself on the side of the road in some bushes that left me with some kind of skin reaction--luckily only on my ankle.

When we finally made into Birmingham, we filled up the tank of our Mercedes Zero Class hatchback for $100 (not a typo) and had dinner along the canals. Besides being the home of Duran Duran and the Cadbury bunny, this city has earned the distinction of being the Venice of England.

Now, we're off to Cadbury World. When I write next, I may be in a chocolated-induced haze.

Crazy duffers

Like devout muslims performing the haj--or pilgrimage--to mecca, golf enthusiasts come to St. Andrews, Scotland, to visit the birthplace of golf.

Even though it was raining heavily on this Sunday afternoon, diehard fans of the sport, and us, were wandering the links of the Old Course behind the the Royal and Ancient Clubhouse on the 18th hole. It seems the course is closed on Sundays, so anyone can walk the fairways.

While it didn't mean that much to me, Chris would chuckle every once in a while or comment that the water hazards and sand traps looked quite difficult.

St. Andrews has more than just golf and, until recently had Prince William. Yes ladies, the future King of England lived here while attending University.

The town also features the largest cathedral in all of Scotland, although it's nothing more than a skeleton on the sea. I'm not exactly sure what happened to it, but now it serves as a cemetery.

We didn't spend much time on the labryntian streets of St. Andrew. We had rented a car and on a whim, decided to make the hour-long journey north of Edinburgh. We made it back just in time (seriously) to see our 6:30 film at the film festival.

The film, called ICEBERG was a story about a woman who gets locked in a freezer at the fast food restaurant in which she works and then starts obsessing about icebergs. The movie was all physical comedy with very little dialogue and it stars the filmmakers who made it. 

They showed up after the film for a Q+A session. I thought it was a little odd to be sitting 10 feet away from two people that had been naked on screen just a few moments before.

That's all I've got for now. I am currently writing from Chris's blackberry and it's hard to type. The good news is that we can receive email anywhere and respond from anywhere.

Feel free to email us at cswblake@hahnlaw.com. We will be on the road all day Monday and would love to hear from you.

Edinburgh

I don't know how many times I've tried to start writing this entry. I think I'm having a bout of writer's block. That isn't good since I'm sitting in the Elephant House, where J.K. Rowling scribbled the "birth" of Harry Potter on a napkin. Shouldn't I be inspired to write something? Is it possible that there is just too much creativity in this town at one time, and that it is preventing me from posting a simple blog entry?

Afterall, the Edinburgh International Festival, The Fringe Festival and the Edinburgh International Film Festival are all going one right this minute.

All sorts of street performers are just outside--being creative. At this point, I guess I'm using my creative energy to stay awake. It's the jet lag...yeah.

After a healthy nap yesterday, Chris and I managed to get to see a Fringe performance called "Confessions of a Paralyzed Porn Star." Before we arrived at the show, we got caught in a rain storm that hit. Even though I had a rain jacket and umbrella, somehow I managed to get drenched.

The rain cleared this morning and I could finally see Edinburgh's extinct volcano, Arthur's Seat, from where we are staying. We headed over to the Edinburgh Castle and walked through. At one o'clock, a cannon is fired over to city to indicate the time. The cannon was so loud that I didn't keep my hand steady as I took a photo at the momemt the cannon was fired. In the photo is smoke, but no "smoking gun." Very startling.

That's all I can muster now. CHEERS!

U.K. adventure to begin this Friday

It's perfect timing for a trip to the United Kingdom. The flights have never been safer!

Chris and I will be heading to Great Britain on Thursday night for 10 days in celebration of our 10th Anniversary. We had been considering Newfoundland and the French colonies of St. Pierre and Miquelon for the last year or so. But after I saw an article about St. Pierre in the Cleveland Plain Dealer's travel section (June 25, 2006), the magic was lost.

At the last minute, I suggested England and Chris quickly agreed.

We will fly into Edinburgh, Scotland on Friday morning. Rent a car on Monday, Aug. 21, and drive to London over two days. We'll fly home from London on the direct flight to Cleveland on Aug. 26.

I'm most looking forward to the British Museum. I can't wait to see all the things the British have pilfered from other cultures over the years.

If the weather holds out, we hope to rent bikes and cycle along Hadrian's Wall, a great wall, 73 miles long, constructed by order of the Roman Emperor Hadrian in A.D. 122.

Right now, it looks like rain will plague us everywhere we go, unfortunately. We'll make the most of our visit anyway.

Stay tuned for more posts this coming weekend!

Uberlandia, Brazil

Uberlandia, Brazil, is not much of a tourist destination. I found that out when I was looking for some information on where I would be going after Argentina.

I pulled out the Lonely Planet guidebook and scanned the index for Uberlandia, but there absolutely nothing written about the city. I don't understand how a city of 600,000 people could be overlooked.

So why am I here as opposed to Rio de Janeiro? I am here to visit my Brazilian family.

Lesley, my oldest sister, came to this city as an exchange student in the early 1970s. In addition to her three biological siblings, she suddenly had six more sisters. Later, three of them came to visit in Kansas City in 1976.

Fast forward thirty years later, and now I am in Uberlandia to visit. The Brazilian sisters haven't seen me since I was 6 years old. Actually, Leninha visited my mother for Thanksgiving and Christmas last year. She is pictured at right in the photo. At left is Alicinha.