We were right at kilometer 82, the start of the four-day Inca Trail route. It was gorgeous and peaceful and the snow-capped mountains were simply stunning. We got all our gear, slung on our backpacks, and headed off:

The first day was short compared with what was to come but it was still tough because we had those heavy bags and our sleeping gear. The temperature ranged from almost 80 in the hot sun to dipping down to freezing in the night so we needed to have clothes for all occasions. And since we were entering a rain forest, we needed to be ready in case of a sudden downpour. That first day we each carried enough water to fill a small lake which added to our weight, especially since we drank a lot less than we had counted on. Our guide Angel, who was young, fun, very cool, and actually seemed to like the fact that we were constantly joking and laughing hysterically, took advantage of the few moments when we had our mouths shut to tell us about Peruvian, Andean, and Inca history. Illustrating his points were many beautiful ruins built intricately into the landscape:

As we passed by and talked with other groups of trekkers, we realized that we were the only ones actually lugging all our belongings on our backs. Everyone else had a little backpack with a small bottle of water and some sunblock - WTF. You see, we were under the impression that everyone carries their own stuff and extra porters are only reserved for the aged and weak. Apparently we were wrong because it turned out that we were the exceptions, with all the other gringos looking at us like we were crazy. Angel told us that the second day would be extremely difficult (12 kilometers, mostly on a very steep uphill incline) while the third day would be the longest (about 16 kilometers both up and downhill). He suggested that we hire porters to carry our stuff on those days. The four of us talked it over and decided to get the porters even though we felt like total pussies. It was probably the best decision we made. It’s a lot easier to appreciate your surroundings when you’re not on the verge of dying:

The second day truly was killer as we climbed what seemed an unending super-steep path of stone stairs for hours. As Ultra later told me, “You don’t know how many times I cursed Angel and called him “diablo” in my mind.” When I finally reached the top of what’s known as Dead Woman’s Pass, I was standing 4,215 meters above sea level. (That’s 13,828 feet for you Yankees.) I’d never done anything so physically challenging but it was worth every ounce of pain:

The third day of the Inca Trail was the most beautiful because we were walking in the heart of the rain forest. It had rained all the previous night and there was still mist and fog for most of the day which gave everything a slightly surreal quality. My camera takes very standard pictures and cannot do justice to the beauty that I saw that day:

If I got offered a job as a host for a travel show, I would take it in a heartbeat:

There were more Inca ruins everywhere and I felt like I was in another world. There was a strike throughout all of Peru but I wouldn’t know it from where I was. The world could have come to a stop but I would still be walking alone in my own universe, oblivious to the rest of humanity:

The fog rolled in and out all day; it was so gorgeous it was almost too painful to watch:

On our last morning, we woke at 4:30 AM and started making our way to our personal mecca, the place that our journey revolved around, Machu Picchu. It was still foggy and misting when we finally caught our first glimpse:

We were almost at the gates of our promised land…

The more artificial my hair is, the more I feel like myself. I didn’t bleach it so it didn’t come out as bright as it could have but it’s good enough. The bangs and front bits are Devilish, the small bit in the middle that is hard to see is Pimpin’ Purple, and the rest of it is Burgundy Wine. They’re all from Special Effects. I was really tempted to go for blue with orange but finally chickened out. I figure that there’s always next summer…I’ll just have to re-watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for inspiration.

And you know what else alcohol makes great? Everything. Everything is great. The music is great, the singing is great, your friends are great, standing in a little stinky bar with a sound system older than you is great. But most importantly, you’re great. You’re soooo great that you can do anything. You’re smart and capable and have ten functioning fingers. And if your friend’s band happens to be missing a bassist, well, you’re so great that you could probably learn to play bass. After all, how hard can four strings be? You’re so great that it won’t make a difference if you’re tone deaf and have no musical talent whatsoever because your greatness will overcome all those obstacles.

So the next day Your Greatness and a friend go to the music store. And because your friend actually is a musician and knows his Gibsons from his Ibanezes (what?) you come home with the most beautiful five-string bass and rockin’ amp you could ever want:

And your friend makes the most beautiful sounds come out of that gorgeous instrument; sounds you never thought a bass could make.  And you’re all excited and start goofing around on it but your fingers feel so clumsy and slow, and the bass is making sounds that are the absolute opposite of melodic.  After a while your wrist starts to ache and your fingers are sore but you keep plugging along.  You print out some bass tabs and eventually manage to play five seconds of a song.  So you practice those five seconds over and over and you learn five seconds of another song and another song.  And eventually you stop lying to yourself and just admit that you are the worst bass player to ever roam this planet.

Luckily the robe is the right size, though it is made of an awful 70s-style polyester (Regal Beagle anyone?) and has strange wing-like structures on the ends of the sleeves, making me feel like Batgirl’s little sister, Nerdgirl. I pray that I don’t get set on fire while trying to rescue someone from the clutches of the Dewey Decimal Monster.

But at least getting the robe on is simple; the hood, on the other hand, is a nightmare. I am completely confounded. I’ve read the directions several times and spent a good half hour (OK, fine, more like 10 minutes) trying to make it look like in the picture. The hood was being uncooperative while I was getting more and more frustrated. I still haven’t figured it out, but at least I will be available if they need a substitute at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:

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Now I just need to dust off the ol’ Nimbus 2000.

Since I was pretty much the first person to get there, I actually got to hang out with them for a little bit before the insanity started. I wanted to ask so many questions but realized that I pretty much knew all the answers from reading the blog everyday. So Heather, what do you do? Duh. Do you have any kids? Duh. They probably thought I was a complete airhead or mildly retarded because I just sat there staring at them with a giant grin on my face. I did have enough self-restraint to not ask them to adopt me. While it was still relatively quiet, two other fans showed up and we all go to hang out and talk like good friends. And since it was the Armstrongs that I was hanging out with, you know the conversation was interesting - topics included polygamy, circumcising penises with one’s teeth, and the crazy bitch that is Kathy Lee Gifford.

There were a few more authors from the book including Sarah Brown, Alice Bradley, and Doug French. Soon it got so crowded that there must have been at least 40 people forming a line to meet Heather. My favorite line of the night was from a woman who came up to Heather and said, “You are like the Beatles for me right now”. They eventually ran out of books and people had to settle for getting napkins signed. At one point Jon turned to me and asked, “Did you think it would be like this?”. And I looked at him and said, “Yeah, actually I did.” “I didn’t. This is wild”, he said. And it was pretty wild, loud and crowded, and I felt like I was dreaming everything.

When I was finally leaving, Heather gave me a big hug and asked me for my blog and e-mail address. And I just about died at the thought that she might actually take a moment to peek into these pages. I hope she comes back to New York soon and I get to see her again. Or I might just show up on her doorstep in Salt Lake City with a sleeping bag under my arm.

I know that I’ve been very paranoid about putting photos of myself on the blog because I don’t want to be “dooced” (fired for writing a blog) but I think in this case I have to make an exception. So…drumroll…here is Heather and me:

Heather, Jon, and me:

Heather in all her tall goodness:

Alice, Doug, and me:

Sarah and me:

So go ahead and call me a blog groupie but I had a great time. Now I just have to meet Angelina Jolie and I can die happy.

Are you jealous, bitches?

It was Easter week so the square was filled with vendors. Little Sister and I binged on snacks of all kinds and browsed the stalls full of traditional marionettes, colorful glassware, and beautiful stationary. The square also has the Old Town Hall and Astronomical Clock. Every hour, figurines move though it’s hard to see with the throngs of people that gather at the base:

Old Town is full of really cool buildings:

A short walk away is the beautiful Charles Bridge with its 30 statues of various saints. It was impossible to take a good photo on the bridge because of all the people, so I took one of the side view:

From the bridge you get a great view of the river and Prague Castle:

From the castle there are also some amazing views:

It took us two tries but we finally came upon the John Lennon Wall which has definitely been altered since last time I was there. I’m pretty sure that what’s left of Lennon’s face and head did not have a funky rainbow-colored Dr. Seuss hat a decade ago:

Finally, here is Little Sister warming herself by the giant roasting meat:

This was our favorite spot to hang out at when we got especially cold (which was all the time) until the man with the ax in his hand came up to us.

So there you have it - Prague in a nutshell. I recommend going there in warmer weather so that you don’t have to thaw out next to roasting hams.

I wasn’t in the mood for going out to this shower; all I wanted was to stay home with D and watch the Battlestar Galactica episode that we missed on Friday. But the girl who organized and was hosting the shower seemed so excited and enthusiastic that I didn’t want to be a bitch. Also, I really like the bride and knowing that she didn’t expect a thing was a big incentive.

So how was it you ask? It was actually not a bad experience. The hostess totally blew our minds with all the preparations and decorations. She had pink and while helium-filled balloons, a Bridal Shower sign, streamers, roses, beautiful silver hearts-and-bells confetti, gifts, drinks, and about 20 different kinds of snacks and finger-foods. Oh yeah, and there was even a crown for our bride. This girl needs to go into event planning. Everything, down to the ribbons on the presents, had thought and care put into it. (If I had thrown the party there would’ve been chips-n-guacamole and alcohol - no imagination.)

After the bride almost had a heart-attack when she walked in and we showered her with confetti, and after the gifts were opened (including musical wedding-night panties), and after lots of food was stuffed down our gullets, it was time to play a few games. (Not those kinds of games - get your minds out of the gutter - the host’s very traditional Polish mom was there.) It was trivia and quizzes, and yours truly won two out of three. Not to be greedy I only kept one of the prizes - this beautiful tea cup that steeps the tea internally and fancy chamomile tea:

I know that winning a teacup may not seem like a big deal but for me it was so awesome because I LOVE TEA. I’m a tea freak. There are about 14 different kinds of tea in my house. I even have chamomile tea that D’s mom gave me ages ago and I never drank because I thought I didn’t like it. But last week, just on a lark, I decided to make myself chamomile tea with natural brown sugar. It was da bomb and I’ve been drinking it almost every day now. So seeing this fancy chamomile tea totally made my night. And the cup is so pretty that I had to use it first thing this morning and pretend that I am just as fancy too.

See, bridal showers don’t have to be painful.

I’m not sure who is creepier - the man with his shiny plastic orange skin or the Bette Midler-esque woman with the lazy eye. Obviously this book has been forgotten on the shelf from the time it was purchased 20-something years ago. But I don’t think this could’ve ever appealed to a teenager in high school. Not even in the 1980s. Maybe this was purchased with the faculty in mind? Were the teachers coming to school dressed in these stunning “separates”:

I checked the circulation stats and found that it had gone out a total of 0.0 times since it’s purchase. And that’s probably a good thing because nobody wants to see the Sporty “Spicy” woman walking down the hallway:

For those that know me from the Punky Colors/Manic Panic era, this is quite subtle. But, you know, I am a respectable librarian these days. Then again, I will have the summer off so I think I will use that opportunity to have some hair fun. Right now, I’m leaning towards purple with blue streaks. I figure I gotta do something since it’s only a matter of time before crazy-colored hair will no longer look cool on me, just pathetic. I don’t want to be the hair-equivalent of a 40-something year-old at a rock concert in leather pants, balding-on-top head of long hair, and a beer gut, screaming “Freebird” while waving a lighter in the air.