#AdventuresofGandR: Anniversary in Lombok!

First of all, I CANNOT believe it's been one year since I married this stud! 

Ross and I started our relationship, SUPER long distance, and for us travelling is what brought us together, that, and photography. As our first anniversary, was approaching, we decided that a quick weekend travel away was in store. Normally, our go-to is Bali. We know the drill, and it's easy, but we decided to try somewhere new. 

Last minute, on Thursday, night, I booked a bungalow for us at Drop-In Cafe and Inn, just outside Kuta, Lombok, and a couple of cheap tickets through Batik Air,  a subsidiary of Lion Air, which has notoriously terrible service. 

After an hour in traffic in Jakarta during Buka Puasa, or break-fast, and becoming seriously close to missing our flight, Ross and I got on OJEKs, and raced to Halim Perdanakusuma Airport. We had never been there, and didn't know what to expect. With less than 30min before our flight, the check-in staff allowed me to check us in, no questions asked (Ross hadn't arrived yet).

Surprisingly, our flight left right on-time, the cabin was SO much cleaner, than any Lion Air airplane we've been on, and we landed early! The stars were definitely aligned for Ross, and I.  
 
It took a little circumnavigating for us to find Drop-In with our rather arrogant, and grouchy young driver, but if you've got google maps, it's exactly where the pin says it is, so just keep driving ;P

We couldn't have found a better place to stay! Drop-In was started by three women, about 4 years ago, and was initially just the cafe, but last year they built three bungalows, and hope to have another 3 open for use by August this year. We only met Solli & Mirjam, but they were awesome! Both surfers themselves, they had great recommendations for us about where to surf, about pricing, and when to go (Magic Seaweed is also helpful!)

They also arranged a scooter for us at 80,000rp, which is a bit more than you would pay in Bali and in Sengiggi (±50,000rp). We were glad we just sucked up our inner budget travellers because the time and effort it would have taken to find a bike was more than worth the 30,000rp, and you definitely need a bike or a driver to best make use of your time there!

At Solli & Mirjam's recommendation, we headed out to Inside Grupuk to surf right after our simple, but delicious, nutritious, and filling breakfast at the cafe. About a 10 min ride from Drop-In you will reach the Grupuk township and boat launch. There are a few board shops which offer board rentals at 50,000rp a board for a 2hr session, and boat transport which runs about 150,000rp for a 2hr session. There are also surf guides available but we didn't take one as the surf was pretty manageable, 4-6ft on the day went out.

Ross missing his own, powerful motorbike

Grupuk Inside is a right, but some of the locals told us when it's small further in, there is a left break. It seems also that depending on the tide, the surf can get pretty big (for me).

At 9-11ft last week, I was pretty sure our surf trip was going to end up with me suntanning on the beach. If any of you remember, I'm just coming out of my fear of the ocean, and didn't want to literally get in over my head. It turns out that the bottom is soft and kelpy, so there is no fear of getting cheese grated by reef during low tide, and the wave isn't super fast and strong, so you don't get held under for long (my biggest fear). 

This was hands down the most fun I've had surfing in a long time. I rented a longboard and just had a blast. I didn't mind falling or getting hit by the waves. There was no current, so I didn't spend my entire day paddling to stay put. It was amazing!

The locals are a bit loud and rowdy, but the general vibe is so much more laid back and friendly that in Canggu. I accidentally got in the way of a gentleman on a pretty nice wave, and as I apologized profusely, he just said, "Don't worry! There're lots more waves coming!" I imagine, Bali might have been similar about 15-20 years ago, but it made our time there so stressfree. 

Ross and I lunched at Drop-In, took a nap and went out again for an evening session. 

We were simply famished after the second session and couldn't wait to get into Kuta for dinner. Kuta is definitely a lot more quiet than Senggigi, and Lombok has not nearly the selection of fine dining as you do in Bali but what you forgo in food, you receive in quality of experience; more deserted beaches, brighter stars, and less crowd. 

We got in pretty late on Friday night and ate instant noodles on the steps of an Indomaret for dinner, but woke up to chickens, and cows, and aqua water, and white sand beaches. 

As we were packing up Sunday after our final surf session, Ross and I made a pact to spend our anniversaries adventuring and to forgo gifts to make that happen. I imagine when we head back to the US, our weekend anniversary trip might be more along the lines of kayaking and hiking somewhere near our home, but for us, the time to step away from the craziness and sometimes monotony of our lives, and go on an adventure really build even further upon the pillars of our relationship. From learning to problem solve, letting go of expectation (eating PopMie during our "romantic" anniversary trip), spending quality time with each other, having fun, and being outside and active, is a wonderful reminder of why we fell in love in the first place. 

So, Ross, cheers to you and me, and a lifetime more of #AdventuresofGandR, and of #everydayGandR. 

#AdventuresofGandR: Arequipa & Colca Canyon, Peru.

Peru has been on my list for years. My dad ran Machu Picchu when I was in middle school and brought back virtual tour CD-ROMs (remember those?!) of the ruins, and the valley. Later, I watched The Motorcycle Diaries, and have visions of Gael Garcia Bernal as El Che breaking down in the hills of Peru, and being passed by a hearty Peruvian carrying bundles larger than himself up an alarmingly steep hill. 

Ross' company's main office is in Peru, and every year when he leaves for his retreat, I send him off enviously, imagining all the amazing people and sights he's going to encounter. Earlier this year, I had an opportunity to head to Peru while Ross was there for some work. Unfortunately, we only had weekends to take advantage of, and Macchu Picchu, the way we would like to do it, is a 4-day trip so, we headed to Chicama to surf for one weekend, and to Arequipa the second weekend. 

Arequipa's historic center is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and was once the capital of Peru. The historic center is magnificent, and they have done an amazing job maintaining it. There is little to no trash, fresh paint, and the city has encouraged modern business to occupy the historic buildings without sacrificing the integrity of the architecture. One of the banks for example is housed in an old Spanish colonial home with a large courtyard. 

Santa Catalina Monastery was on my list of sites I really wanted to see. I have seen nuns travelling on missions all over the world, but I had never see what a nunnery looks like, especially not one that was still active. We rarely get guides, as it is more often than not a rip-off but I was so curious about the grounds. We were SO glad to have taken one. We learned SO much from our guide. She told us about how rich men sent their second daughters to the nunnery as penance, how rich widows not wishing to marry again would live there, about their sleeping chambers, and rituals, and how they filtered water with volcanic rock. I think of all the places I have seen that men have decided to lock women up, this was the most beautifully well kept.

After being guided around the labyrinth of rooms, and chambers at Santa Catalina, we were famished, and on a mission to lunch. At the advice of some of Ross' colleagues, we ate at a HUGE Arequipeño restaurant, Tipika. As we understood, there was a problem with shellfish, so no seafood for us, but I ordered the river trout, and Ross had some Chicharrones. The meal was forgettable but it did the job. 

We had done some reading and found that Colca Canyon, and the Vista del Condors was just a two hour drive away. In true Ross style, he opened a map, and saw a small, non-descript alternative route through Salinas Aguadas National Reserve, and over a pass into Colca Canyon. From what we could gather, there were no gas stations, shops, or people in general along the 150KM journey, so we loaded up on water and food in case we got stuck, ran out of gas, or any combination of things that was likely to happen to us. 

While we LOVED our hotel, La Casa de Melgar, we were excited about being somewhere more rural after spending our week in Lima. The gracious hotel staff allowed us to cancel our second night in Arequipa without any extra fees. (Score!) 

When we flew into Arequipa, Ross and I saw these strange tiny squares that looked like awkward fragmented "townships" in the middle of the desert, so we set out to find what these were. Unfortunately, we were a little too late, and caught the sunset from some nearby hills without finding the funny, little box houses. 

Before the sun rose the second day, Ross and I bundled into our rental Toyota Hilux equipped with a roll bar, several litres of water, and just enough snacks to last until dinner. Google estimated that we were about 5 hours away, which meant that we would arrive in Colca Canyon WELL before noon. After 3 hours of driving, and not even getting a quarter of the way there, we re-evaluated our ETA. It was very evident that Google did not understand driving even 40km/hr climbing thousands of feet in altitude on a sand "road" into the high desert was dangerous as best. I think our first clue was that the few massive trucks we saw were also driving slowly; a TRUE rarity in the developing world, especially for locals. 

It's all fun and games until you get altitude sickness. Thank goodness, the gentleman at the car rental place suggested we pick-up some pills, but I took them too late. I attributed the first few drowsy hours to sleepiness, and my child-like tendency to be rocked to sleep in any moving vehicle. By the time we were at around 12,800ft, I realized I was not sleepy but fainting, I had a dull headache and I was having a hard time breathing. It was a really scary sensation to be somewhere between conscious, and unconscious and have no control over your body. Luckily, we saw some llamas. 

In all seriousness, when I got out of the car to check out the llamas, and the salt flats, I needed to take a break every few steps as little spots of white and black started to enter my vision. Llamas are a great way to forget about being sick for a few minutes but the remainder of the trip until we started descending into Colca was miserable. It was hard enough staying conscious, remember to breath deeply and not throw-up, let alone expect myself to walk around to take photos but I got a few in there. 

9 Hours later (HURRAY GOOGLE!), we descended into Colca Canyon. As were driving down the last 20KM of the amazing, nicely paved highway that we could have taken, I forgot how awful I was feeling. With rose colored glasses, I was reminiscing about all the beautiful scenes we had already seen on the way that I was truly glad we took the route we did. I was thrilled about our decision to come to Colca. If you're ever seen the Land Before Time, and when Little Foot, Sara and the crew walk into the vista seeing the Valley that they fought so hard to get to, descending into Colca Canyon was a lot like that. Epic. 

We quickly checked into our super cute and VERY clean hotel the Miskiwasi Bed & Breakfast, in Yanque, dropped our bags off, washed our faces, grabbed our cameras, and jumped back into the trusty Hilux to explore. Oh, I also grabbed a fist full of coca leaves...Turns out these guys are on to something. It works!! And it was much more effective than the medicine to be honest!

We really only had 1 day to check out the Canyon, which is HUGE, find the Condors, and take pictures so we got right to it. If you remember that scene I mentioned in The Motorcyle Diaries, when I finally understood how El Che was feeling. These incredible campesinos were on their way home from a day working in the fields by the time we got there. They were all just trucking up the hills, and I could barely walk 10M without losing my breath. Admittedly, I was feeling better than I had at the height of our drive, at 14,000ft, but still...

We drove to the next township of Achoma. A group of mischievous middle aged women were sitting around the plaza, knitting, chatting and laughing a lot. They invited us to the festival that would be happening in a few weeks with lots of traditional Watiti dancing that they were all very excited about. We had heard that Colca was really wet during this time of year. The ladies started explaining that climate change was to blame. It had really altered the climate and they were experiencing more and more dry spouts, and noticeably warmer winters.  It was alarming to me that even in a community where I met people who couldn't remember how to sign their names, so many of them were talking about how they were experiencing climate change, like it was common knowledge, and yet so many people in the US still don't believe it's real. 

The highlight of our conversation was one of the ladies said, "Well, Colca is like a vagina".

You can read into that how you wish.

We made the mistake of going into Chivay for dinner. Yanque was a much more quaint,  charming and clean town. The plaza in Chivay was packed full of tour busses.  The restaurant we ate at, which was recommended by several of the guides online filled us up, but in terms of flavor, and service, was really disappointing.  It was just food and nothing more. Which is fine but the smell wafting from our own hotels kitchen gave us high expectations. 

Because we needed to be back on the road by lunch the next day, Ross, and I woke up in the morning to catch the sunrise, and supposedly catch the Condors. I will never get the image of the vistas we saw out of my head. I don't think I've seen anywhere as continually picturesque as I did this weekend in Colca Canyon. Ross had been to La Valle Sagrada near Lake Titicaca, and loved it but this was just a different kind of remote. 

Historians believe that many of the terraced fields the Quechuan residents of Colca Canyon are still farming, date back to the Incans. Keep in mind that this is the world's second deepest canyon. Twice as deep as the Grand Canyon, and the terraces start at the banks of the river, and reach most of the rim of the canyon. It was also evident that most of the farming was manual, without machinery, so the terracing, to me is even more impressive. 

We watched the sunrise above Achoma at look-out spot/ cacti garden. Each cactus reminded me of a headstone, and the flowers dotted them like offerings to people and histories past. As I walked up to the shrine at the highest point, suckling on one of the massive white flowers was the MOST massive hummingbird I have ever seen. I almost didn't believe it was a hummingbird. As fast as she fluttered into my path she was gone, like a fairy, who almost got caught. When I later told Ross about what I saw, he told me that the illlusive giant hummingbird was notorious in Colca for being rare, and shy. 

We spent our morning hopping from town to town watching the valley wake-up. Ross and I decided we were more interested in meeting people in Colca than seeing the Condors, or bathing in hot springs so we just drove, and walked and talked like we usually do. 

The Cruz del Condor is pretty packed at dawn, with eager tourists racing to catch a glimpse of the Condors. An annoying little black car was driving at a snail's pace in the middle of the road. Finally, one of the women in the car pointed to the rest of her comrades and as we looked up to see what was so interesting that they needed to block traffic for, a massive condor swooped over us. So, we got to see one! Thanks annoying black car!

I later told a friend about how we "skipped" the Condors but got to see one anyways and we were chided for our ignorance. Condors are one of the closest living relatives to the dinosaurs. We missed a massive piece of history, kinda... 

People are either magnificently charmed by our cameras or understandably skeptical. Somehow, with a little bit of coaxing we always end up meeting some superbly fun people. We crossed the river, to another township, and started walking the streets when a stoic lady turned the corner in her traditional dress. Much like many of the women in the canyon, she donned her intricately embroidered and appliqued skirt, and hat. We asked for her photo and she scornfully declined when a funny older gentleman was riding down the cobblestone rather unsuccessfully in a wheelchair. 

After the first massive pothole, it was evident that this wheelchair was not for necessity, and at this point was more of a toy. When he clumsily rolled himself towards the two weird foreigners on his street, our little lady became even more stern, and stoic. Eventually, we found out they were married, and somehow convinced her to allow us to take a photograph in exchange for a polaroid. I learned that being opinionated, and scary sometimes is a super effective way to get your way. She was disappointed with her first slightly over-exposed photograph and demanded a better one. Si señora, eventually turned into an invitation to their home where we took a few more portraits and my favorites from the weekend. 

With the sun starting to get high in the sky, Ross and I headed back for breakfast and passed the hot spring baths on the way. We had a delightful, simple but filling breakfast, ordered a few sandwiches for the ride back to Arequipa to catch our flight, and packed up our things. 

We started to worry as Ross had planned another epic journey which would circle us through the canyon back to Arequipa. Google said 4 hours, but we knew that was likely inaccurate. It was worrying because everyone else had a different number from 4-14hrs. 

I had already started to get acclimated to the altitude, and now that I had a stash of Coca and some pills left I was ready for any adventure. Ross and I decided that if it was half as cool as the drive into Colca, we would be willing to risk missing our flight back to Lima, so we went. 

We had been making amazing time, when I needed to get out to pee on the side of the road. I stepped out of the car. I am a lot more modest than you are giving me credit for, as in the 2hrs we had been driving, we had not seen a single person, or car and were descending a massive hill still 20km to the next town. I heard a weird hissing sound and my instinct was "RATTLESNAKE!", but in a second I realized it was coming from our trusty Hilux. Ross got out and shouted, "GET BACK IN! WE NEED FLAT LAND". I think we managed about 500M to a semi flat spot before it was time to get out and change a tire. 

My dad had made sure I learned how to change a tire before I got my driver's license, but I've been fortunate enough to catch slow leaks before my tires went flat, so I had never done it. Luckily, I have a pretty handy husband. My job was to take photos, hand him tools and give him water...

What a princess, I know! ;P

Our trusty Hilux came with a kinda soft spare, we still had 90KM of uninhabited roads, and now, no spare, so we stopped in the next town praying that someone might be able to help us. The odds were not in our favor. The only vehicles we saw were tourists, or tourist buses, and a tractor on those terraces, ha! 

Luckily, the policeman in town told us that there was ONE Afarmer in the community that had the tools to fix a tire. So a cell phone call, and within 30min, a man came down from his fields. We had someone fixing our tire! 

A friend of the campesino/tire repair man came in asking if he knew what time the bus to Arequipa came into town, and was told that it wasn't until the next day. After another 5 inconclusive opinions about how long our drive would take, we decided we needed a guide, and took this man clad in a Canadian Tuxedo with us. 

We decided pretty quickly, that picking up our compadre, Renaldo, was the smartest thing we had done all day. We also decided we had not seen so many different changes in terrain in the span of 4 hours ever. 

Once we got onto the autopista, we also decided that this was the MOST talkative person we had ever met. He was amazing and gave us an entire history, geography, and politics of the region, and his life story in addition to guiding back to Arequipa. As time was ticking, we were getting closer and closer to missing our flight. It's always the worst when you miss things by a little bit and it was looking that way... If you DOWNRIGHT had no chance, it's almost easier to swallow. With this stress, compounded with the harrowing yet beautiful drive we had, I didn't have the energy to keep up with the weird Peruvian Spanish and just zoned out while Ross enterained him. 

Then we saw it! The tiny little boxes!  

Renaldo, our passenger, explained that the Peruvian government was building water pipelines in Peru. With the hopes that the pipelines would eventually come through, people have been building homesteads throughout the country in places they suspect will have water, one day. 

We eventually did make it to the airport, just in time for Ross to change out of his dusty clothes, and put one more adventure in our pocket! 

Trust: Bridget Loera

I initially met Bridget through her artwork. She creates intricate line work embellished artwork, and portraits of women, often with a lot of color. She is very much an embodiment of her work, a colorful human representation of the goddesses she paints and draws. In addition to her art, Bridget is also dedicated to healing, as a certified Hypnotherapist. Bridget has become a really good friend over the years, and someone with whom I feel grounded. It’s the natural healer in her, and the vibrant aura that she carries with her everywhere.

 Bridget and I were talking about this concept of self-love, and how it's so easy to fall into the trap of beating ourselves up. I had wanted to work on an art project and she was willing to play muse for the day (lucky me), and trust me to photograph her. In such a privileged situation, when I photograph people that I know well, I become hyper aware of this relationship between photographer and subject. As an artist, making art is essentially wearing everything inside on the outside, in every action, I take, a little part of me is revealed. That process is very precious, and many artists don’t allow people to enter in this private space.

Early in my studies, a photo teacher told me that it was "bad karma" as a photographer to say no to getting your portraits done. Whether or not you're superstitious or believe in karma, the bigger lesson I learned from this was to know how uncomfortable it is to be on the other side of the camera. I started to really pay attention to how I feel, and what I am thinking, because as a photographer, I want to make my clients, and subjects feel as comfortable as possible, and to trust me, so we can move to a more collaborative place. 

As a portrait photographer, I am preserving memories, but I more importantly, I am producing tangible evidence of a person's existence. Bridget naturally exudes her inner beauty, and reveals herself and even she had reservations about being photographed but not everyone has the confidence to wear their most charming qualities on their sleeve, and the truth is even most people aren't able to see their own beauty.  

My goal as a portrait photographer is to provide this for people. I want to give people a chance to see themselves as their loved ones see them; a chance to see themselves in their best light. 

A dear friend of Bridget and mine, who we lost last fall, used me and my skills in her process to try to overcome her fears, and reservations about being photographed; to try healing scars from her youth. It was really one of the first times that I really understood what I should be giving people with my portrait photography, and when I started to understand the implications of my job. 
                                                                                                       
It's an honor, to be trusted to photograph people; as Henri Cartier-Bresson says, "...to get between people's shirt and their skin". This is work in progress, always discovering, and re-discovering how to connect with that special place in new people, and a task that I take on with great reverence. 

Thanks for trusting me Bridget ;) 

#AdventuresofGandR: Overcoming Fears. Chicama, Peru

In high school, my best friend and her family would periodically pack me into their motorhome, and we would spend a weekend surfing baby waves in Santa Cruz. We always left exhausted, and cold (SO COLD!), but despite being knocked down by wave after wave, and sometimes being unable to get in or out of the "soup", I still very much felt in control. I loved it. I had my very first sunburn there at the age of 15. Plus, I just felt like such a bad @$$ every time I stood up for a few seconds! My surfing escapades really ended as high school came to an end. Life took me away from the sea, and when I did end up back there to visit my best friends, we spent more time catching up, and lounging than we did in the water. 

Coming to Indonesia, proved to be an opportunity to learn to surf regularly again. What I didn't realize was that the ocean or sea is more temperamental than me, and my brief experience in Santa Cruz did not prepare me for the powerful Indonesian breaks. I confessed in an earlier post that I just pretend to be brave but there is a lot in the world that scares the living daylights outta me. One of those things is the ocean. I truly feel like the stereotypical "oblivious boyfriend" in my relationship with her, because 2 years in, and I still haven't figured her out yet.

About 6 months ago, I had a few sessions that hit me hard; times, where I was held under repeatedly, for several sets, swallowed water, pulled closer and closer toward a massive rock that the waves were just pummeling, and it completely changed my relationship with the water.  I felt her fury. We had come out of our honeymoon stage and had our first real fight. It was also a lesson in mortality. The spot we surf in Canggu is considered a beginner to intermediate spot, so I guess, I wasn't REALLY going to die, but it felt like it. 

Fast forward to January, and I still had not reconciled this relationship with the ocean. While working in Peru, Ross mentioned that Peru was home to the longest recorded surfing wave in the world, and that it was a beginner/intermediate spot that I could easily navigate on a small/medium day. We decided to take a trip to Puerto Malabrigo, and stay at a wonderful, little surf resort, Chicama Surf Resort, and try to ease back into the ocean. 

I was nervous about the idea of even getting back into the water just to swim, but conquering fears are the only way to move forward. I obliged. We thought we would save the US$30/person on the boat, which meant 20min walk, barefoot, being blown like a sail, carrying a board too big for me over rocks to get to the surf spot. Finally, tired, and in pain, simply feeling the water on my legs set off a faucet of tears, and froze me like I have never frozen before. I could not walk farther than knee deep, and seeing the waves, even at 4ft, crashing in the distance, constricted my lungs. It was the most bizarre, terrifying experience. It was a debilitating physical response to a completely mental hurdle. 

When I decided to head back, Ross eventually convinced me that it was easier to let the current pull me back home instead of battling the winds again but I cried the entire hour I floated back, cursing him for tricking me into the water. With each impending set of waves, my heart beat so fast, it felt like it wasn't beating anymore.

The next day, after a LOT of mental coaxing, I did go out and paddle. Ross ordered the shuttle boat take us out, so I could conserve my energy, and arrive to the spot fresh. Honestly, we should have forked up the $30 a person on day one because the current is so strong, you spend the entire time fighting it to come back to catch the next set. The wonderful boat driver convinced me that I would be safe, explained where to catch the wave, and that the waves in Chicama are not known to hold you down for a long time. He reminded me that the sandy bottom wouldn't hurt me, and that the current doesn't pull you towards the rocks but down the shore. He also repeatedly kept checking in on me throughout the session to make sure I was comfortable. 

My first order of business was to allow myself to fall. I didn't ride any waves that second day, but I did go for wave after wave, and fall time after time coming up each time a little more confident. Thanks to a lot of help from Ross, and the boat driver (Sorry, I forgot his name!) I slowly realized that the ocean wasn't a guaranteed death sentence. 

I just booked our room in Canggu, Bali, this morning, as we are preparing to spend next weekend surfing. I am starting to feel some of these fearful feelings coming up all over again. Canggu, a reef break, is significantly stronger, than Chicama is, and is where I felt the farther away from life than I have ever felt. This trip to Chicama was an expensive confidence boost, but a worthy investment. Who knows, maybe I will start hyperventilating, and crying again, but I've decided to take a guide with me. Even sitting here, typing this, I'm feeling a little nervous about paddling out.

More than the fear of the ocean itself, I am afraid of letting this fear overcome me. I think fear is like cancer. Once you have it, if you don't cut it out or kill it, it spreads. I don't want any other part of my life to be overcome by it. I know feeling truly confident again in the water will be a process, and that I should keep a little of that reverence to remain safe.  I will undoubtedly need to go through this exercise with another fear, or maybe even the same one. I think the scariest part is that I said to Ross, that first day in Chicama, that me and surfing were done. There hasn't been a single thing, ex-boyfriends aside ;P , that I've decided to completely write off.  I told him that it would be the last time I took a board into the ocean. I've already thrown that silliness out once, now it's just time to slay that idea all together, and to cut away that infestation. 

If you are looking for a fun, surf spot, I would highly recommend Chicama Surf Resort. Putting my personal drama aside, I mean, if a girl hyperventilating can see the end of it and tell you about how it helped her feel better...I'd take that as a good sign. Plus, when you're not surfing, the punchy, salmon, and mint hotel was a fabulous spot to spend the rest of your day. They have a pool overlooking the ocean, that's great for sunbathing. Normally, I think it would be a great place to watch the sunset but it was overrun with wild, children playing and squealing the whole time we were there. 

The howling offshore winds make the evenings incredibly beautiful, and fresh, and I looked forward to sipping Chilcanos on our balcony while watching the ocean do her thang, but towels, books, and empty cans and bottles beware. 

Ralph and the rest of the staff were awesome. We had a super early flight into Trujillo, and late flight out, and they allowed us to check-in early and check-out late, which was a nice way to make our stay feel stress free. We already really like the resort, but the fact that they were so ready to make our stay as perfect as possible when they could, is something,  I think a lot of hospitality places can learn from. We'd definitely come back, and the next time, I'm gonna slay those waves ;P

All of the reviews on tripadvisor said the food was amazing, but in our opinion, they could really up their game. I will add that after driving around the area, I think it's the best you can get. Aside from the two little surf resorts, there aren't really any restaurants for miles. Maybe a hole in the wall cevicheria, but it was closed when we discovered it. The waitstaff could also have used a smile, and some pep in their step. The restaurant is only open during meal times, so plan accordingly.

They have a massage therapist on staff, a sauna, and a steam room to ease your aching muscles. Since, I did more crying than paddling this weekend, I didn't feel like I deserved to take advantage of it but after a couple double sessions, I can see that feeling AMAZING! 

Chicama has surf boards for rent for a pretty hefty $30/day fee. Maybe we're just too spoiled by Indonesian prices...

Just outside the gates, you leave this Palm Springs-esque resort and enter what looks like Jakku from Star Wars. There are just hills upon hills of sand, and not a tree insight. The town itself is quiet, arid, sandy, and desolate. Ross and I explored outside the resort a bit (got stuck in the sand in the process) but it made me feel a little like Marie Antoinette locked away at the beautiful Palais de Versailles, while Parisians lived a very different life past it's walls. I guess we all pick and choose what we see, where we see it but that's a different story. 

Real life, planet Jakku con moto-taxi. 

This was after 2 flat tires on the way out here on the autopista from the Trujillo airport . #epicfail

#AdventuresofGandR: Luna de Miel. Part 2: Viñales, Cuba

There were so many places we loved in Cuba, and each had its' own charm. Viñales, however, held a special place in our hearts because it was the first Christmas away from home that we weren't overcome with homesickness. 

As I mentioned before, we stayed in Casa Particulares for the entirety of our trip, but Viñales was were we truly discovered Cuban hospitality. Yovany and his wife, Vane's, Casa Nolo, in Viñales, was "la casa rosa" with a second floor. 

Viñales is a rainbow of petite, charming box shaped homes, with a room or two for rent, and the "arrendador" symbol pasted next to the door. We had been advised that Vane was a great cook, and the first night we sincerely regretted not ordering dinner on our drive from Havana to Viñales, as when we arrived the delicious wafting of Vane's Langostina Enchilada filled the entire casa. Vane had incredible recommendations for restaurants in the tourist filled little village but oh gosh, that smell! Mmmmm! 

Vane, a firecrackers of a woman, with enchanting sage eyes, helped Ross and I arrange a sunrise hike with their friend and guide Luis Miguel to the homestead of Los Aquaticos. We didn't really pick-up on what they believe, but Miguel told us it had to do with the healing powers of agua. 

We left well before the sun crept out of her slumber, and hiked for almost an hour with nothing but our headlamps, and the sound of Miguel's footsteps guiding the way, bumping into the occasional vaca. Eventually,  I recognized the sound of tiny little cerditos circling my feet, indicating that we had arrived. We, and several other tourists, sat in anticipation, huddled in the sticky humidity of a Pinar del Rio dawn waiting for the sunrise to reveal what we had woken up so early to witness. 

Tourism is still very regulated in Cuba, and we were told we had to take a guide for this hike, which honestly, Ross and I were a bit bummed out by, but Miguel was awesome, and we were unexpectedly happy to spend our morning this the sheepish, funny young man. 

The sun revealed that along with their cerditos, these aquaticos really had picked the coolest place to call home. 

Ross and I really aren't guide type travelers, and are admittedly snobbish about it, but on the way down Miguel asked, "Do you want to take the scenic route?", and of course we are always up for an adventure. If not for Miguel's guidance in the dark, because let's be honest, Ross would have divorced me on our way up to the sunrise- I like to try to play it cool, like I'm super brave but I'm kinda scared of the dark, and even more terrified of the jungle- our walk down sold us even more on Miguel. We walked through tobacco fields, and he introduced us to the kindest tobacco farmer. 

We have learned that long ago that TANSTAAFL, and tourist traps are a right of enterprising locals, but Cuba was not the same. Sure there are touts in most of the cities, and tourist destinations but this lovely gentleman with sandpaper hands, taught us the difference between local Cuban cigars meant for their own consumption and the ones that are sold to tourists. Apparently, locally consumed cigars are totally natural; cured with honey, vanilla, anise, and other spices, then dried naturally in a tobacco hut. When they are ready to be smoked, they are rolled, and stored in a bundle covered with a banana leaves that serve as natural humidors. 

We were presented with a cigar (and he refused compensation for the cigar or his time, yeah, NOT a tourist trap, one more notch on Miguel's belt). I'm a non-smoker, but when in Rome right? AHH! I accept that there are many things that I'm just not refined enough to appreciate. Scotch, caviar, and now Cuban cigars are on that list. My chimney of a husband, enjoyed the puro, and I spent the rest of the walk wishing there was some way to strip my mouth of the residual flavor, thinking, "What happened to the honey, and vanilla?". It was "the gift that just kept on giving". 

We were told that the nicotine in a tobacco leaf is concentrated in the veins, and the main vein has the most. Honestly, I  haven't be able to figure out how true that is but if it is, I'm sure Philip-Morris is all about those main veins. 

After working up an appetite on our little tour with Miguel, Vane had breakfast waiting for us in La Casa Nolo.  She's an amazing cook, and makes her own jams, and concentrates when fruits are in season. Each morning, I looked forward to what she had preserved; ripe, pink guava jam the first morning, and ice cold mango juice the next, which she stored in used beer bottles. You learn quickly that Cubans are industrious. There is a scarcity of every thing at some point. The Frankenstein Chevy Bel Airs, which really are only the shell of their original selves puttering the streets, and highways, are the most obvious testament that Cubans are creative and resilient (Lesson #1: How to be a Cuban). 

As it was Christmas day, they already had a cerdito (it was more of a cerdote) roasting for dinner. After a nap, we took a drive, simply to explore the surrounding hills of Viñales, picking up hitchhikers along the way, and making their destination ours. My favorite was the precocious 8yr old boy with coke bottle glasses, and his mom. He was a busted pipe of jokes. Ross, my master of puns, instigated him, and there was no turning back. I always pegged Ross as a terrible actor. Ross was laughing so hard, I thought we had Jerry Seinfeld in the backseat. All was revealed when I asked Ross what he said, and under his breathe he murmured, "I don't get it either". It was Ross' best performance yet. Yes, I will take a commission on any jobs booked from this post. 

We spent the evening drinking mojitos, and hanging out with Yovany, Vane, little Anyelina and the Sanchez family. We were warned that no one is immune to Cuban promiscuity and their infectious charm, but little did I know Abuelita Sanchez would be my biggest competition on this trip! I have to give Ross credit, she was incredibly cute, and equally smitten with Ross. Don't you worry. I wasn't left out! I too had my chance to shine, when I was invited to dance salsa with the neighbor across the street. Of course, I realized that I had failed miserably when I looked up, away from my feet to discover that I was just the evening's entertainment, as the entire neighborhood witnessed the only latina & negrita in Cuba who couldn't dance. No, my childhood dance training did not prepare me for this swagger. My dance partner graciously told us I did a good job, but we all knew the truth. 

The moment, I walked out of the Havana airport into the parking lot, took a moment to look back at the airport terminal, and take in that my feet had finally hit Cuban soil, I knew something had infected me. In Viñales, I started to understand I was learning to be. I'm not professing to have turned zen master or anything but it's nice to sit on the porch in a rocking chair, just chilling... I don't know how to do that. Ask my mom, I was born with ants in my pants. In Cuba, you just gotta soak it in, hands open, heart open, mind open, car door open, with no deadlines. 

Next stop: Santa Clara and El Che! 

Pretty Little Ray of Sunshine: Silkworm Vintage

I often don't discuss what it is like living away from my friends and family, mostly because it's an indescribable feeling and more importantly it's a choice. On one hand life is rich, and exploding with new experiences, and on the other hand, it can be empty, and lonely. Eventually, yes, you re-create a little tribe, and your backbone is stacked back together but I truly believe that with every friend I make, a little part of my heart leaves when we part.

We love our life here in Indonesia, and we have re-created our backbones here with some amazing friends who will take a piece of my heart when we or they must leave, but life in Jakarta can be destabilizing. For a girl who discovered life and happiness in the woods, and the hills, cities can be a labyrinth for her soul. 

Sarah Kay has a wonderful TED talk, that I often listen to on Mondays when I need a little pick-me-up.  Her poem Plan B still makes my heart ache, but she also talks about writing poetry, and how she uses her art, to figure things out.

On my recent trip back to CA, I spent many mornings with my camera wandering the woods at sunrise. Little did I know until after I started editing my photographs from home, that I spent these mornings, finding my way through that labyrinth I had created back in Jakarta.  

I'm a firm believer that life, and growing old is a journey of continued discovery. My desire to travel, and explore, crazy congested cities like Jakarta or mull about life with a cold mojito is Cuba, will never wane and is a much a part of me as these woods, and my home is but it's a lovely reminder that there is one place that I will forever be connected to which will bring me back down to earth, and shine a pretty little ray on sunshine on my soul. 

Thank you to the beautiful muses, Rachel from Silkworm Vintage and Lauren Wessman for a fun. freezing evening playing in the woods. 

Clothes: Silkworm Vintage
Hair & Make-Up: Lauren Wessman

#AdventuresofGandR: Luna de Miel en Cuba. Part 1: Habana.

As a sophomore in high school, my Spanish teacher, Mrs. Keeney, started one of our first lessons with the Wim Wender's Buena Vista Social Club documentary. Unbeknownst to her (OK, I'm betting she had masterminded this), this sparked in me, a romance with Cuba, and a romance with love itself. This was also the beginning of my inner rebel/idealist/socialist/communist self that identified my teens. While a lot of my angst, and communist ideals have long faded, my desire to fall hopelessly in love, and to travel to Cuba has continued to be a long dream of mine. 

One part of that equation happened on a fortuitous, trip as a student abroad in Ghana where I met my husband, Ross, and the second part, was realized due to the kindness of our friends and relatives gifting Ross and I the most appropriate wedding gift we could have imagined, our "Luna de miel en Cuba". 

Ross and I have been fortunate enough to share many adventures together but this has undoubtedly been one of the most transformative, and inspiring trips. There were many reasons for us to fall in love with Cuba, fall in love with the world, fall in love with ourselves and fall in love with each other all over again (I didn't know I could love that guy even more than I already did) but I'm not sure I will ever be able to pinpoint the one reason this was such an important trip. Getting married may have been an incredible part of it but the spirit, and kindness of Cubans is simply infectious. 

Cuba is blue: an aching, painful, yet beautifully, joyous, content, and calm blue, that seeps romance, nostalgia, passion, and suavity.  

We have had a few friends who've lived, worked and traveled to Cuba, and the overarching advice we received was stay in Casas Particulares, and take it slow. Within the two weeks, we had in Cuba, we saw a lot of the country, but to me, Cuba's charm lies in the honest, conversations over ice cold Mojitos, and rum. It lies in the "Ay, Mami" machismo, and the hearty, strong presence. 

We, of course, have a lot to learn about Cuba, its' complicated history, the nuances and realities of life, and about the politics that are to come, but in the two short weeks we were there, Ross and I, have begun a relationship with Cuba, that we are excited to see blossom. 

At the advice of our friends, we decided to spend our time in Havana Vieja walking. We really wanted to feel Havana, so every morning right at sunrise, we woke up, and took a walk for a couple of hours to get our appetite flowing, and watch the city wake up. 

It's cooler during December. Our mornings were delightfully brisk and warmed up with every waking Cubano. Havana really never sleeps. You can feel the city's heartbeat with your eyes closed but to there is something magical about the morning. 

I'm frightfully shy, and my Spanish is poor at best, but what I love about photography is that it breaks down these walls. It's my plastic/metal courage, and icebreaker. Thankfully, Ross' is fluent in Spanish as well, so between my coy smiles, toddler-level Spanish, and Ross we were able to have some great conversations with shop keepers, little ladies sweeping the sidewalk outside their home, touts, and children, and the many times we were faced standing in the cola, waiting with the rest of Cuba for life to happen. 

Ross and I played a little game on this trip. Every time we heard Guantanamera, we vowed to take a shot of el ron, we failed miserably on holding each other to this task, mainly because we spent the first week terrified we were going to run out of cash, with no way to get more. While we were there the first little Florida based bank, started allowing it's customers to use their debit and credit cards in Cuba but unfortunately we are not members of this bank. Hopefully, in the months to come this will change for American travellers. 

We took long lunches, sipping Mojitos and Daiquiris for me, and a doble Havana Club Añejo con hielo for Ross while feasting at what became our favorite paladar, Nao Bar Paladar. Tostones, Coñejo, Langostino, Ropa Vieja, it was all good. The staff was delightful, and soon came to know our faces as we, came is lunch after lunch. Food in Cuba is notoriously, unvaried, and while we were pretty over pork, by the time we left, I fell in love with langostina enchilada, saucy (Unnecessary luxury No.1) tomato based, steamed lobster, usually served with fried plantains, and Ropa Vieja, a stewed saucy beef (ok, it is the same sauce as the lobster). 

In lieu of sightseeing, we just walked, and talked, and drank the days away. While we did catch the old, fortress, Plaza de la Revolucion, with the epic Che outline, and a few others, the headliners were definitely the Cubans themselves.

It's been a long time since I felt that alive and connected, sans wifi. 

1930s Vintage Love Story [Styled Shoot]

"When two people meet, each one is changed by the other, so you've got two new people."
- John Steinbeck

I have always been enthralled with vintage, and there has always been something so innocent and everlasting about the Post World War 1 Era that has fascinated me.

In a time of great struggle, two things keep us going, hope and love. 

When I mulled over photographs of brides and grooms of the 20s and 30s, the stoicism despite the beauty of the occasion always alarmed me. Photography was different and much less mobile but the meticulous attention to detail in this time when the photographic mechanism relied heavily of precision is also a reflection of the time in general. Between, the fine lace, beading, and netting, oozing bouquets, grandiose, table settings and the acute tailoring of men's suits, this tangible craftsmanship is something that I long for. It truly was a time where people built things that were made to last and appreciated for years to come. 

Some inspiration for a modern bride with a vintage heart. 

Models: Maya Sady & Adam Partain
Hair and Make-Up: Nicole George
Staging and Styling: Cocomont Vintage
Flowers: Camino Flower Shop
Dress: Silkworm Vintage 
Suit: Studio 81
Model A: The Partain Family
 

Our Own Beautiful

I've been struggling all morning to put into words this battle of identity but the point of the matter, is that I think she's a perfect example that true beauty is self evident. 

The world won't stop reminding us that we're different or don't live up to everyone's perception of normal. A life spent embracing these differences and sharing them, that flows beyond borders, breaks open minds, and is fuel for an emblazoned heart.