serendipity

The close call

We were traveling down a one-lane dirt and gravel road, on our way to go fly fishing. The majority of the roads in Chile are not paved, and four-wheel drive is the norm - especially in the rain. A truck squeezed in next to us and informed us that a fire truck and ambulance would soon be coming, soon being a relative term, and for us to be prepared to let them pass. This was unusual but we each thought to ourselves "heart attack."

We were technically in the middle of nowhere with few houses and no electricity. Chile has more middle of nowhere than somewhere spots, and from that point of view, this drive is normal. We resume our conversation and fifteen minutes later the firemen pass, grim expressions on their faces.  Fifteen minutes after that, the ambulance passed. We each get a sense of foreboding that we don't talk about.

Twenty minutes more down the road, we see the rescue workers.  But we don't see anyone to be rescued. We pull over to the side of the road, something we never do back home.  We realize that the rescue workers are standing at the edge of the road, looking over the side of the mountain.  Oh. Then I see the tire tracks - not skid marks - just ordinary tire tracks that calmly lead straight over the side of the cliff.

Claudio, our guide and driver, and Xav get out of the truck and peer over the side. Xav motions me to stay in the car while Claudio talks to a local. I don't want to get out of the car. I want to know what happened, but I don't want to see it with my own eyes. So I wait. Claudio comes back for his camera and can't find it. He is visibly shaken, and I give him my camera which is always ready.

The truck drove/rolled down a 300 hundred food cliff and stopped hard on its nose in the middle of a creek. Two men were in the cab, and both were thrown but at that moment, both are alive. Amazingly, one of the men managed to climb back to the road to look for help, if he hadn't both men would certainly be dead. The man at the bottom of the cliff was dazed and bleeding badly, sitting next to the truck on a rock. I have a picture of this. I won't post it here even though I know you want to see it. It's too personal, too invasive. I have no business here and I have no wish to invade this man's privacy. Also, I don't know if he's still alive.

The emergency crew from the ambulance worked on the man who climbed to the road for a long time while a local used a chainsaw to carve a path to the crash site through the rain forest. It must have taken a long time. On the way back from fishing we pulled the car over to see the wreckage. The people were gone but the truck was still there. I started to shiver. I'm not normally afraid of heights but all I wanted to do was leave. I wondered if anyone would ever be able/willing to get the truck out of the creek or if it would become a permanent part of the landscape.

Last night we were driving back from a long day of fishing a glacier lake. It was a beautiful day even though the fishing was tough (a full moon and dropping barometer sent the fish running to the bottom). I kept the window rolled down for the two-hour drive back to the lodge - I just can't stop staring at Chile. Suddenly I was jarred out of my reverie by a much too close view of a cow on my right and headlights on my left. With lightning-fast reflexes, Claudio avoided both the oncoming truck and the killer cow, without fishtailing the boat we were trailing and flipping the truck. I still don't know how he did it. I do know it would have been hours before help arrived if he hadn't. 

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You would think all of this would make me afraid to travel the mountains, at least by car, but I'm not. All I want to do is load up again and see everything I can in the short amount of time we have left.

Today is the last day of fishing, tomorrow we start the long journey home.

Aloha Chile

What with the earthquakes and all (tsunami, black out, broken airport), I wasn't sure we'd be able to take our annual trip to Patagonia this year. This was a bigger problem than simply our "vacation," because we are bringing 18 paying clients with us. This means that while he and I will be fishing, we will also be hosting, caretaking, amusing, negotiating and managing clients.

Based on the emails we've been receiving, some of them are a bit, shall we say, concerned about vacationing in a place the State Department has said, and I paraphrase, "if you don't have a serious reason to go there, don't." 

I think it is safe to say that fly fishing does not truly qualify as a real reason. Unless, of course, you fly fish. And you've taken the time off from work, and your wife said it was okay to go, and you've got plane tickets and no trip insurance, and the place you're going to has not suffered any direct damage. And you like helicopter rides that take you to remote locations to catch big rainbows. Then you might think of it as a real reason to travel.

And so we will travel. Tomorrow.

We've been watching the situation closely, Santiago has moved 10 feet to the left, but the airport is up and running, if not at 100%, enough to make us think we won't need sleeping bags. All we need to do, she said optimistically, is get through Santiago, once we are 500 miles south in Puerto Montt it will be easy peasy.

Gringo and Les Girls are all set. All of their favorite babysitters are lined up to do their bidding keep them out of trouble. Throw in a movie premiere and the fact that no one really knows what time they are supposed to go to bed and you've got a party worthy of Lindsey Lohan.

I am nearly over my regularly scheduled travel without children-related panic attack and ready to give up this gorgeous California sun for what promises to be at least a week of rain. Ah, Fall in Patagonia.

As an added bonus we will be falling, almost entirely, off the grid. This down-time promises to be more difficult for him than for me. I know there is life off the grid, but he may have forgotten. I'm not completely sure he can put down his Blackberry, we may have to have it surgically removed. It has become part of him in a way that only Tron can understand.

I will post if I can, photos to Flickr at least, as long as there is wi-fi (don't hold your breath).

hugs and kisses, 

Opposite IKEA

Remember this line from Seinfeld? George says:

My life is the opposite of everything I want it to be. Every instinct I have, in every part of life, be it something to wear, something to eat ... It's all been wrong." And after this realization, George decides to do everything the opposite of what his instinct tells him to do. And for one episode, he wins.

Who could have predicted that George would provide me with a way to beat IKEA? That's right, I said "beat IKEA." You thought it couldn't be done and so did I. IKEA beats us all. It traps us like rats in a maze and the only escape is to somehow get past the checkers and the cinnamon buns - after a full-blown sprint past every piece of cheap furniture known to man. And yes, I was there to buy cheap furniture. No one makes it out alive, or at least with their self-esteem (and credit cards) intact.

Yesterday he and I left on a virtuous mission: get the big girl a desk that fits in her new, big girl room. Not only will this be good for her, it will be good for the little one, who also has homework. It will also be good for me. As much as I have enjoyed this "let's all work together at the same desk" time, I would like my office back.

He and I had the best of intentions, but better than that, we had a plan. We knew which desk we wanted and checked online to make sure that our neighborhood store had at least one for us to buy. Luck was with us, they had "6."

Luck. Ha.

We parked in a designated spot far enough away from the front door. We went up the escalators and walked the long three miles to the desks. We identified the aisle, then the bin. We were good to go. We walked the remaining 10 miles to the self-service area and went to the designated bins.

Empty.

We go to the human in charge of self service. He explains that the inventory system is wrong. In fact, this desk system is completely discontinued. Maybe, just maybe, if we are really really lucky, they will get more. But not today and not tomorrow. In fact he has no idea when. We should come back next week.

Disappointed but undeterred we walk the 13 miles back to the desk showroom. The human there confirms the desk we want is discontinued. There will be Something New in the Spring. Ah. So, it's March now, when does IKEA think Spring starts? Now? Two weeks from now? Perhaps we should consult the Farmer's Almanac to determine the thaws in Holland? He doesn't know. Maybe next week, maybe never. He shrugs in that "I know I should be helping you but I don't actually know anything" kind of way. Okay, how 'bout you sell us the floor model? He checks with The Authorities. "No. We will be getting more of the discontinued desks, even if I can't tell you when. The only desk we have left is red." I'm positive she doesn't want a red desk. 

We walk the remaining 45 miles through the showroom and self-service and leave without buying a single thing. Yes, that was us. I'm fairly certain they took our picture on the way out. You will be seeing it soon at your local Post Office. But not on Saturdays.

Fail.

That night my girl says "I LOVED the red desk! YOU were the one who thought I shouldn't have a red one."

I don't actually remember saying that but it's not the first time. Somehow I convince him that the next day we will return to IKEA. I still don't know how I did that.

And this is where George comes in: We approach IKEA from a totally different route. Quite literally.

We park in 20 minute parking - next to a door.

The door is an EXIT door. We walk in.

We walk the wrong way past the checkers.

We approach the - now frowning - human in "self service" who takes the idea of self service too seriously (he believes we are all idiots and based on his experience he's probably right). We force him to disclose the location of item #20134353. We walk directly to the aisle and find the bin. We search through boxes 1 and 2 to make sure we are taking the ones that haven't been destroyed by other scavangers. Two boxes, unscathed, are placed on the dolly.

Back to the checkers, we bypass "self-checkout.' This line is full of Prius-driving do-gooders and twice as long as the lines staffed by actual people. That's right, I said that. Oh I see, now that they are driving out of control speeding death traps we're not supposed to make fun of Prius drivers anymore. I always get the memo too late. 

Five minutes in line and we are the proud owners of more cheap furniture. We actually did it in less than 20 minutes, which means that our parking choice was legitimate in fact, if not intention.

 Free at least, free at least. We take the desk home to our girl.  

As girls go

It's been a long time since I lived in the Castro. It was by far my favorite neighborhood in the city. Very open and welcoming, and so great for people watching. I think it's easier on straight women than on straight men and Xav was never truly happy there. But Janis, my best friend who lived with us for awhile, and I, were very happy. I'm pretty sure that the neighbors had mis-figured us out: Janis and I for the couple and Xav for the roommate.

The Safeway at Castro and Market was my favorite supermarket. With its long, narrow aisles it was not what you could call safe, but it was fascinating to me because that is where most of the transvestites shopped. The actual transsexuals, those who had crossed over and made a real commitment, shopped at the Diamond Heights Safeway, a very boring store, which if you've known a few transsexuals makes sense. But the transvestites, who seemed to like attention - shopped on Market Street. And so did I.

They liked to shop late at night, so I had to change my schedule to make sure I came across them. It was not unlike a treasure hunt, and when I would find them, I would forget my shopping list and follow them downthe aisles.

Don't get me wrong, this was not a make-fun-of-the-strange-men kind of thing. I loved them. I wanted to look at them, to really see them, to understand them. I wanted to see their clothes, their makeup, their hair. Most of all, I wanted to teach them how to walk in high heels, something very few seemed to able to accomplish and something that always betrayed their status, no matter how good they were at the rest of the disguise. Perfect eyeliner, check. Perfect outfit, check. Toes crossed, walking on the heels of their feet, check. I could charge money for this. And in the '90s, I would have made money.

 

As girls go

Suzanne Vega