The other half has the vacation write up, so I shall just provide some photos.

We drove up to Ashland this past Friday to attend the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, since we both needed the R&R away from our computers for a weekend. I’d driven through Ashland before on my way from Seattle to Oakland, and thought it to be one of those quaint towns where we could spend a day browsing art galleries and crafty stores, ala Port Angeles or Carmel. Turns out in Ashland, “The play’s the thing” - that, and eating; we had an excellent dinner at the Winchester Inn and there were plenty of nice restaurants in town to choose from. But besides dinner and a show, there’s not that much to do: the art galleries are spread out, not terribly inviting, and there weren’t any particularly interesting quaint stores.

Which isn’t to say the Ashland theatrical experience wasn’t worth it. We went on the backstage tour Saturday morning given by a local playwright/dresser. The acting company is obviously passionate about their work, and it shows in just how much work goes into it, not just from the actors but the vast number of support staff - set dressers, light, sound, costume, and even video designers. As the tour wound its way around the three theatres we were able to see first hand the stagehands all working to switch from “Taming of the Shrew” to “Tempest” in one theatre, “Distracted” to “Tartouffe” in another. Our guides anecdotes were amusing and informative, including the requisite stories about near disasters, last minute understudy replacements, and women masquerading as male swashbucklers in “Cyrano de Bergarac” who had to be repeatedly warned to not upstage the rest of the crew.

We only had time for “The Tempest” in the outdoor Elizabethan theatre Saturday night. It was well done, mostly in period costume and not strangely altered (apparently this year’s “Romeo and Juliet” was controversially modernized in both costume and dialogue - you don’t mess with the Bard’s words, man). Slightly marred by Gonzalo played by an understudy who was reading off a script, but I guess something must have happened to the main actor to justify it. Alas, The Tempest is still not high on my list of preferred Shakespeare; I’d hoped seeing it live would change my opinion, but it didn’t. Prospero has some really good lines, but I still just don’t get the play. Too much magic, perhaps, or Prospero just doesn’t seem like a believable character to me - not vengeful enough? Actually, just not entirely convincing, especially in his change of heart. And Caliban’s role is almost too pathetic to be either sympathetic or villainous, although the actor who portrayed him did an excellent job.

www.flickr.com levork’s Turkey Tour, 2006 photoset

Susan and I got back from two weeks in Turkey late Wednesday (Thursday morning) at 2 am and we’re still recovering today. Wednesday was a travelling marathon, with a ten hour plane ride from Istanbul to New York, a five hour layover, six more hours to San Francisco followed by a late night shuttle ride. We’re now both sick with nasty colds, courtesy of the fellow tourist who wouldn’t cover her mouth and got everyone else sick. After teaching a course at work on Friday my voice is now shot. Not an auspicious way to end a vacation, but otherwise it went well.

When we were planning the trip, we ended up being daunted by the task and instead opted to go with a tour group run by Flo USA. The tour covered over two thousand miles in twelve days, from Ankara to the southern Mediterranean coast, up the eastern coast bordering the Aegean, and winding up in Istanbul. So it was a lot of driving - anywhere from two to five hours a day, interpersed with two to four hours of sight seeing, then overnight in a different hotel. It was a good way to sample a lot of locations in Turkey, but it was tiring. Also somewhat unnerving at times, as the drivers in Turkey are blithely heedless of such things as lane markers. Hence the amount of time spent in the van, plus two somewhat tactless individuals who were unfortunately part of our tour group, were the low part of the trip.

We also missed American coffee - we never did sample authentic Turkish coffee, and when we asked we were given horrid Nescafé to drink. And I don’t think Susan nor I are going to be lifelong fans of Turkish cuisine. Kebabs are okay once in a while, but after trying several regional kebab specialties - which were all variations of meatballs or meat on a stick - we’re now kind of meated out.

The highlight of the tour was the time we spent in Cappadocia and in Antalya. In Cappadocia, we stayed at the Kelebek Pension, one of the famous cave hotels in Göreme. Our suite was carved out of the volcanic rock in the region. We enjoyed staying there, especially since the owner went out of his way to rescue my luggage (it had been delayed in JFK), and dinner in the hotel restaurant was one of the best meals we had in Turkey. As for the reason why tourists go there, the geology in Cappadocia really is out of this world. I tried to capture some of it in photos (Flickr) but you have to be there to really appreciate all the fairy chimneys, volcanic outcroppings, and strange geological formations, as well as all the ancient Christian settlements carved out of volcanic rock.

Antalya was noteworthy for its Archaelogical Museum. The halls were filled with Greco-Roman antiquities collected from nearby Perge and Aspendos, both sites which we had visited earlier. The marble statue were in great condition, fully the equal of anything I’ve seen in the Getty or the British Museum. Better, because we had seen the sites where they were from and could mentally place them in context. As a person who appreciates Greek classical studies, it was quite an experience to go to the excellently preserved theatre in Aspendos, and then later in the day see the statues of the Greek pantheon that once adorned the stage. Antalya is also a resort town. Flo USA upgraded our accomodations in Antalya and we were in the Marmara Antalya hotel for two nights. Definitely stellar accomodations. With the weather cooperating, it was a treat to lounge around poolside in Mediterranean seaside resort surroundings.

There were a lot of other stops on the tour: Sardis, Ephesus, Pergamum, Troy. Most were archaelogically interesting, though by the end we were overwhelmed by the amount of Roman ruins (”oh boy, another marble column!”).

We wound up the trip in Istanbul, which was a bit of a disappointment. The big tourist draws there - the Sultanahmet mosque, the Hagia Sofia, Topkapı and Dolmabahçe palaces - were spectacular and well worth the trip, but after spending a day and a half we no longer regretted that we weren’t spending more time in that city. Perhaps it was also because we were both run down and sick by this point, and I should also mention that within the first half hour of setting out alone in Istanbul along İstiklal street, I was the target of two very determined hustlers offering to be my tour guide and trying to lure me to get drinks and prostitutes; and was stopped by police for walking around with my hands in my pocket. The Grand Bazaar and the Spice Market were definitely overrated attractions - the goods sold there were available at every other tourist stop in Turkey.

All in all it was a great trip. I wish we had seen more things of a Middle Eastern or Islamic flair - Turkey seems to be a country asserting its secularism very strongly (never mind the one morning in Göreme when there were three separate hourly calls to prayer, starting at 4:30 AM) - but the Greco-Roman and early Christian historical places were worth the trip. We didn’t see many other American tourists, mainly Germans and Russians; it seems the number of American visitors to Turkey has sharply dropped off after 9/11, then the bird flu scare and now the latest Kurdish conflict. It’s too bad, because for the most part we felt safe (apart from aforementioned incidents in Istanbul). And yes, the toilets were fine, apart from the irritating 50 Kuruş fee charged at many tourist stops. Our excellent tour guide Yeşim (who had the patience of five kindergarten teachers) asked us to thank her by recommending Turkey as a destination for fellow tourists, and I heartily do so.

The vacation, once it got started, was nice. I sat on the beach (getting burned on the very first day), was actually able to appreciate the warm ocean water, and found the weather much to my liking. We also spent a day in Charleston looking at old houses. Most importantly I hopefully didn’t embarrass Susan in front of her friends or parents, who provided gracious Southern hospitality and golf swing tips. I even got to see the snout of an eight foot alligator lurking in the water hazard of the links.

Of course, I had to get there first. This is where the real story of the vacation begins, because it took me over twenty four hours to get from Seattle to Hilton Head Island. My travel nightmare began when I checked in at the counter at Sea-Tac around 11 am on Thursday. I should have known what to expect when the ticket agent rudely heaved my luggage onto the conveyor and didn’t bother to tell me which gate the flight was leaving from.

The trouble really began soon after. During the flight to Chicago the pilot told us we were going to be flying circles over North Dakota because President Bush was landing at O’Hare. When I landed half an hour late I soon found out my flight (and the only one) to Savannah had been canceled. Most of the other flights out of Chicago had been terminated or delayed as well; they blamed thunderstorms (which I couldn’t see any) and the arrival of Air Force One (which I could see on the far side of the tarmac). So I stood in the customer service line for over an hour along with hundreds of other disgruntled passengers and made arrangements to be on standby for a seven o’clock PM flight to Atlanta, in the hopes that it would be easier to catch a flight to Savannah from there. This flight became the 9:15, then the 9:45, and finally the 10:15 flight (changing gates and terminals each time, and Chicago is not a small airport). I ended up missing standby for the first flight, then ran across the airport and managed to make standby for the last flight of the night to Atlanta which had been delayed to 10:45. I was the last person to board the plane, snagging a seat in the first class cabin - but sat at the gate for half an hour until they told us we had to change planes due to mechanical failure. So we all deplaned and sat around until after midnight. They boarded us back to front on the replacement plane, and when they got to the front they told me the person whose seat I had taken had showed up for the flight so I couldn’t board; the damned lady must have known this was happening and snuck on before her seat was called. Finally they asked some customers to hold their babies and managed to squeeze two more passengers on board, self included.

I got into Atlanta at 3:30 AM (sans checked in luggage, I might add). Crashed at a hotel for a couple of hours after calling United to arrange travel through Charlotte on US Airways. When I got to the airport at 8:30 AM, an hour before my flight, the US Airways agent refused to give me a ticket until United gave me a canceled ticket for the Chicago to Atlanta leg of the flight. I went over to the United desk (jumping the long line in favor of the first class counter) where they spent half an hour puttering around trying to beat their computer into issuing me the proper canceled ticket. By this time I had clearly missed the US Airways flight, so they issued me a ticket for a flight directly from Atlanta to Savannah on Delta - which was scheduled to leave in 30 minutes. I went to security only to be refused by the TSA person who said I needed a boarding pass, not a ticket. I ran to the Delta desk, waited in yet another line, ended up getting my ticket changed for a flight two hours later, and finally managed to get to Savannah some time after 1 pm on Friday, a full day after I’d left the house. Oddly enough my checked in luggage was waiting for me when I arrived; who knows how long before me it had arrived.

I had no plane delays on the return trip, but just to show me they still cared, United sent my luggage to Washington, D.C. instead. And this is why I hope United Airlines will sink back into bankruptcy and go belly up, because as far as I’m concerned it couldn’t happen to a more deserving airline.

But otherwise - the vacation really was quite nice.

My sisters seem to think I’m grumpy the rest of the time, hence the expression they sculpted on my gingerbread counterpart. Well, if it was Christmas year round, that frosting frown would be upside down.

Merry Christmas!

I spent Thanksgiving in Hawaii, and it wasn’t a great vacation. We should have been warned by the presence of Demonchild, a toddler with a misleadingly angelic countenance who, on the flight out, made a horrible non-stop bleating/sheep getting killed noise straight from the depths of hell itself.

Then on the first full day, we were lying on Waikiki beach when I began to feel ill. It soon turned into a 102 degree fever - it was the flu. Silly me who claimed never to need a flu shot spent the next two days lying in a hotel room dressed under heavy blankets trying to cope with a body that had suddenly decided to stop regulating its own temperature.

And then the next day it started raining. At times it was of deluvian proportions - something like eight inches a day. We drove out once for a hike at Lyon Aboretum, managed a few steps in the driving rain, and gave up almost immediately. No scenery was worth getting drowned for.

The trip wasn’t an entire loss; we had a good dinner at Roy’s (Yamaguchi - yes, Shatner’s Iron Chef Asia), quite a few ridiculously fruity drinks including excellent pina coladas (the ones served at the Sheraton were best by far), and managed to go snorkelling at Hanauma Bay during a two hour lull in the rain. Caught a Polynesian themed show at a hotel where the presence of a room full of giggling Japanese schoolgirls made it more than worthwhile. We also made it out to the Polynesian Cultural Center on the North Shore where we puzzled over Mormon sensibilities apparently reigning supreme over the preserving of Polynesian heritage - not one single female midriff to be seen in the cheesy song and dance routines that wrapped up the evening.

And of course on the very last day the skies cleared up and the sun came out, so we did manage to get some sun on the beach, if even for an hour. Just to top things off, Demonchild was on our flight back too - though at least he was quiet.

This morning, I was for the first time wide awake during the train ride from Seattle to Vancouver. And the scenery inspired me to grab my laptop and start a stream of consciousness thing:

Foggy. Visibility is less than a hundred feet. It is high tide, and the shoreline is often no more than five feet away. I see a very still gray ocean, fading into gray nothingness. A few ducks here and there. The train gently lurches, and we’re suddenly going past green meadows. It lurches again, a sign reads Samish, and there are clapboard fishing buildings - peeling blue paint, white roofs. Now nothing but ocean again. Black rocky beach. Red rocky beach. Seagulls going by. A goose, seemingly flying backwards as we pass by quickly. Tough looking men on a sandy beach, driftwood arranged in artful patterns. Rocks, piled high in gravity-defying columns. Now a green evergreen forest, then a grove of green and yellow and orange maples. A beach again: lone seagull perched on a rock. Now, mostly just the water. Old pier logs jutting out of the water in neat rows, like ancient broken columns. Hurrying past giant boulders. We are higher up. The ocean isn’t visible, just a white expanse of fog a little ways away. A street sign: Pleasant Bay. An expanse of green: ferns everywhere. Finally a road - a man taking his dog for a morning walk. A red shingled roof, sheltered cove: quiet community of fifty homes. Man painting fence. Cedar homes. Then back to quiet ancient trees. Water again. Still. White bleached logs, black seaweed. Snake-like giant kelp.

Within the space of less than five amazing minutes: where there was nothing but gray water and gray sky, now there is the hint of yellow, and then the sun emerges from somewhere behind me. At the same time trees appear from the fog which is quickly burning off. The water is blue! Then back to foggy nothingness.

Bellingham. Then an hour later: White Rock. Unbidden memories of childhood and clam digging. The long pier where long ago I once spent a day setting crab traps - today the end of which can’t be seen through the still heavy fog. Beachfront stores, more tacky now than I remember, but still quaint; memories of going into town from Auntie Ling’s store, running errands which I can no longer remember. The giant white rock itself, now up on a grassy lawn and not the sandy beach as I remembered.

People stop and stare as the train moves in and out of their lives. And we stare back, and then are gone. I leave something behind.

On vacation. Went down to California again for a long weekend to visit Susan, where we went out for a couple of birthday dinners, spent most of the rest of the time relaxing, watching TV, and otherwise not doing much. This was very much needed downtime after finally getting the 11.5 release out the door last week. Sunday evening we went camping in Lake Chabot. We managed to get the best lake view site in the place (#69 if you’re curious). It was the first time sleeping in the wilderness for me - ok, what can I say? I’ve lived a totally urban existence. Anyways, it was great fun despite the initially unsettling near-total darkness, but next time I will bring a mattress pad since I have delicate city boy ribs that ache easily. And I now have a markedly improved view of Oakland - I had no idea that such a beautiful place existed within fifteen minutes of there.

I’ve realised: Leaving gets harder each time.

The trip was fun. The highlight was of course the two and a half days of climbing at Red Rock. Alas, we didn’t experience a variety of climbs - when we got there we found the majority of the intermediate routes (5.9, 5.10a) were lead-only routes with bolts at least 15 feet apart, requiring protection in between the routes if you were nervous. Neither David nor Rosalind wanted to chance leading them, and the few lead routes which were less intimidating were in very crowded areas (i.e. the Magic Bus, the Black Corridor, and the Gallery areas were swarming with college kids). In the end we ended up close to the parking lot at the Sandstone Quarry pulloff for the majority of the time, climbing in a

Yeah, that’s all I do - haul ass without any style. More pictures from last week in Skaha.