#I always see people in cheap ponchos in photos

[kirby-the-gorb]

[laowai-on-a-bike]

Yinzu, Yinzu, Yinzu… these words echoed endlessly in my head. It all started when I was back from Jiu Gong Mountain, on the highway with my friend Freddy. I was impressed to admire such beautiful landscapes so close to Wuhan. It's weird that we are always drawn to faraway destinations, like Yunnnan, Guizhou or Sichuan provinces but ultimately, there are already plenty of places to explore near our home.

Besides, I will be moving to Guangzhou soon so I might as well explore the area before leaving. And then, starting a bike tour directly from home without the hassle of bringing your bike to a distant destination by train or bus or by mail is really much more convenient. Well, I'm already digressing...

At one point on the highway, then, an exit sign appeared with the name "Yinzu" written on it. I didn't know why, but I was immediately drawn to the name, maybe because it sounds good, I don't know. And then the obsession started: "I'll go by bike to Yinzu". I didn't even know what Yinzu was: a village? A town? Regardless, it seemed like a good pretext for an adventure.

Then Freddy, who speaks Chinese much better than me, managed to find the name in Chinese character. Yinzu was there, on my Baidu Map app (equivalent to Google Map in China), 90 kilometers away from Wuhan.  Ideas for routes were starting to take shape in my head for some time.

In the middle of June, I was having a three days weekend for the Dragon Boat Festival so I said to myself: "Yinzu, I'm coming"!

One day before leaving, I checked the weather forecast: they announced rain for 3 days and a very hot weather (33-35 degrees) ... Ouch ... But, if we are still waiting for the right moment to leave, we will never go on a tour right? “It's raining”, “it's too hot”, “it’s too humid”: these are no excuses! Especially in the Wuhan region, where there are only two seasons (very hot and humid or cold):  that doesn't leave many opportunities to ride if we wait for the perfect weather. So I decided to leave, raining or not.

The last time I rode my bike in bad weather, I wasn't prepared. I ended up with plastic bags around my shoes and a soaked underwear. After this experience, I had searched the internet for the perfect solution to ride in the rain. Overshoes? Good brand raincoat? 10 yuan plastic poncho from street grocery stores? The solution finally came from my British friend Jack: "You must embrace the rain ! Just remove your shirt and ride in sandals"! He was not wrong: in fact, why bother ? Especially with temperatures around 35 degrees, you are dry in 5 minutes ... So I grabbed a 15 Yuan rain shorts (a kind of ugly short made by trash bag material) because I don't like having my underwear wet - yes I know, I'm a little princess -, Decathlon sandals, and for the t-shirt, well… I'm really not a fan of riding with a cycling jersey, so a punk band tee-shirt will have to do !

The day before departure, I loaded my two bike rack bags, I took food (oatmeal and dried fruits for breakfast, and some dehydrated dishes), some clothes, a raincoat which in the end I didn’t use, an Italian coffee maker (instant coffee, no thanks), repairing tools, then equipment for camping (tent, sleeping bag, mattress etc.). Sleeping in a hotel is for a looser, I am a real adventurer... well that's what I thought before leaving…

Sunday 8 am, departure. It didn't seem to be raining, so now was a good time to go. The first 50 km were on a big dusty expressway, I could feel that I was in the suburbs of Wuhan: here and there, construction sites, bridges and roads under construction. I hadn't done 30 km before my bike was already very dusty. No problem, it gives me a feeling of adventure.

The Expressways in China are widely used by trucks… not necessarily super fun to ride, but it allows you to get out of town quickly. Well, positive note, the roads are often very wide here and you really have room to ride. I was trying not to think about the trucks and enjoy my trip, much like when your buddy is snoring next to you, if you start to think about it too much, you will go crazy and it will be impossible to think of anything else. But everything went very well and I never felt unsafe on the road during the whole trip.

The advantage of going on a short 3-day test trip is I learned a lot.

First lesson of this trip: do not trust the weather forecast. The rain they predicted? I hardly saw it…  In fact, it was under a blazing sun that I had to ride the entire trip. They have an easy job, those weather broadcasting guys! Basically they write that there's a 50% chance that it will rain… not a big risk-taking on their part…

So finally, I rode in the blazing sun, and on an express way, there wasn't a single patch of shade. The sun hit hard! As I had already tanned well on my previous bike trips, I figured that I was not too prone to sunburn.

Second lesson: always wear sunscreen, even if you already had sunburns before! And above all, do not wait until you are sweating to put it on, otherwise, it makes a kind of mixture between sticky perspiration, sunscreen and dust...

Well, the sun didn't worry me more than that, at worst a sunburn. ... it was more in terms of hydration that I had to be careful. So I decided to tape bottles on the frame of the bike.  DIY spirit! I also had with me some rehydrating powder to add to the water, since you lose a lot of salt with perspiration.

Anyway, I rode like that for quite a long time, and on the way, I passed a little hand-built house where people were selling water. Seeing me sweating heavily, they invited me to sit on a stool placed in front of a fan. So it was true: when people see a cyclist arriving on a trip, moreover a foreigner coming out of nowhere, smiles and kindness appear.

We talked a bit about the usual topics: Where are you from? What is your job? Are you married? What are you doing here? Then, after a few minutes, the father invited me to eat. At first I politely refused, but eventually I gave in. It is heartwarming to see the hospitality of the people especially at this time, when many Chinese people are scared to see a foreigner, thinking he may have brought covid-19 from abroad. It’s a bit tiring sometimes to see people pinch their noses when they see me on the street, I have to admit. But not at all here. They apologized for only offering me vegetable dishes, no meat, but in fact I was more than happy to eat fresh vegetables from their garden. We chatted about everything and nothing during the meal and it was already time to leave. I would have liked to drink beers longer, but I hadn't come to get drunk. I had a trip planned: Yinzu was waiting for me.

I got back on this big road but after a few kilometers I started to wonder. I hadn't come to go for kilometers on a boring road while being shaken by trucks ... Hence my third lesson of this trip: prepare your route well. Basically there are different types of roads in China that start with a letter: the S and G are the expressways where there are a lot of trucks, little shade, but that has the advantage of going straight and faster. Perfect for traveling for kilometers quickly and out of cities. But the X and Y are much more interesting country roads. Even if it takes detours, it is a change of scenery guaranteed. After these three days of biking, I learned that you have to know the right balance: ride the expressways to go quickly and far, especially when the landscapes are uninteresting. And take the small roads to ride peacefully, to discover rural life and be amazed by the landscapes.

So I changed my route on the GPS. Good decision: I crossed my first rice fields and I was finally over the moon.

Gradually, the landscape started to be really amazing and the colors of the landscapes became greener and greener.

Further on, I began to see mountains in the distance. It was my destination, it was these landscapes that made me want to go to Yinzu !!! The trip was finally starting to make sense. I was as excited as a kid over his Christmas present and all my doubts melted away

I rode like this all afternoon, with a smile on my face, despite the scorching heat.

Gradually, I began to wonder about where to sleep. I am always on the lookout when I ride, looking to see if there is a possibility of wild camping.

Lesson number 4: the rice fields are beautiful in photos but not ideal for camping ... It is not always easy to find a flat and, moreover, hidden place to have a good quiet night's sleep. The rural countryside is incredibly dense with crops and cultivated fields, so it's really not that easy to find a spot to camp. The solution might be to ask people in the area. Well anyway, I was heading to Yinzu and I could decide there.

I arrive near a pagoda and a temple in the middle of nowhere, on the way. What is that ? I asked a passerby, she reply "nothing". I thought she must have been surprised to find herself face to face with a smelly foreigner on a bicycle and told herself that I don't speak Chinese. In fact she was right: the buildings were completely empty, probably a future hotel still under construction.

Finally, a Yinzu sign. I was approaching my goal, but what exactly? I didn't even know what Yinzu was ...

So finally, Yinzu, is a small town which consists of a big main street with its restaurants, its stores. Everyone is surprised to see me there and I have fun seeing children speechless when they meet my eyes: "What can this foreigner on a bicycle be doing here?" I was so excited to have arrived at my destination that I didn't even take a photo of the city. I would also have liked to take pictures of people, but I didn't dare to do it.

I had to make a decision. Get out of Yinzu and find a place to sleep in the wild - I was still quite exhausted from the day's travel and the sunburns - or go and try to check in at the only hotel in the area. I say "try" because not many Chinese know it, but in China, many hotels do not accept foreigners. It is not really out of racism. No one really knows the reason: some say that cheap hotels do not have the computer system to register foreigners, others think that China wants to show only beautiful things to foreign tourists and they must therefore go to beautiful 4 star hotels. Well, I'm not criticizing, it's like that here and I accept it but it's still frustrating to live 15 years in a country, to work there, to be married there and to be refused in a hotel because you're a foreigner…

It makes it hard to plan a bike trip if you're not even sure you can find a place to sleep.

Anyway, whoever tries nothing has nothing and finally, I walked to the hotel without really believing it. The owner who ran the establishment did not even ask a question. I told him that I am a foreigner (sometimes people think I am from Xinjiang Province) just in case. He asked me if I had a Chinese identity card, but I replied with a smile that I only have a passport, that I came from Wuhan by bicycle and that if he wants, I have a photo of my Chinese wife's ID card. But he was very nice and gives me the room card, chatted a bit and even offered me tea.

I went upstairs to take a well-deserved shower. I was really sticky ... I realized that the sun had scorched me today ...

Lesson number 5: apply sunscreen everywhere, including your feet!

I was still a little disappointed with myself. Watching videos of people cycling around the world and camping in nature every night, I told myself that going to sleep at a hotel is a bit cheating, isn't it? But after 5 minutes under the air conditioning, I told myself that it was not that bad in the end. I travel for myself, not for others, and after a little over 100 kilometers in the day, I admit that a shower and a good bed made me feel good. Too bad for my adventurous soul...

I went out to eat something. In the street, I had the impression to rediscover the feeling that I had had when I arrived in China in 2006. It is a felling rather hard to explain. Once again, may be the surprise of people who greeted me with a warm "hello" and wanted to take a photo with me, or the number of street foods vendors who are hard to find in big cities nowadays. I ate a bowl of Lanzhou noodles, returned to the hotel and quickly fell asleep.

 The next day, I woke up feeling very tired. It was undoubtedly linked to the heat stroke of the day before. My feet didn't hurt too much. I had few small blisters on my knees but it could have been worse. I told myself that I shouldn't hang around too much. Better ride early to avoid the heat of the day. By arranging my things scattered all over the place and loading the panniers on the bike, I was already sweating profusely… The day was going to be hot… I put on sunscreen (I had understood my mistake of the day before). I decided to go towards Wuhan but not by the same road because it is boring to take the same route as on the way there. There is a big lake 50 km south of Wuhan, which is perfect because I have never been there before.

The road to the lake was once again beautiful. I passed through villages and small towns, lakes, rice paddies, cornfields. Such a nice place to ride a bike.

Every now and then, I chatted with people at a gas station, or with a watermelon vendor who kindly offered me his stool to eat in the shade and chatted with me.

It was still very hot, but the sun was not too strong. In fact, I can handle the heat really well. I can ride in high temperatures with no problem but on the other hand, when the sun is burning my skin, it's really hard for me, especially from 10 am to 4 pm.

While riding under the sun, I was wondering about my next trips. Since I got back to cycling, I have dreamed of doing part of the Silk Road by bike from Lanzhou to Dunghung in Gansu Province, basically a road through the desert (with cities between). I was starting to realize that my dream was not going to be so easy to achieve. How to ride all day without shade? I guess someone should really be prepare for a trip like that.

I tell myself that in the end, I was smart enough not to jump straight into such a long adventure. Rather than directly embarking on a 20-day adventure and experiencing difficulties, I did things gradually: first short distances in Wuhan to get used to the bike, then trips of 100 kilometers in Wuhan, then a two-day trip, a mountain to climb to test my willpower and finally a slightly longer trip.

Around 11 am, the sun reappeared but I decided to go to the lake without taking too many breaks. I still should have left two hours earlier though (I left at 8 am) to avoid the strong sun radiation.

Gradually, the landscapes changed a little, the mountains in the distance disappeared and the vegetation changed. I would have liked to stay in the area longer but I had to go back to work. Next time I should ride longer.

When I got to the lake, I realized that in fact, I was not really in the place I hoped for. Make no mistake, it was very beautiful, but it wasn't really a big lake. Rather square ponds designed for fishermen.

But I was still super happy to find myself a little shade by the water with my friends the hens who came to visit me and sometimes fishermen who came to chat with me.

The place where I was, however, was not really ideal for camping because it was too close to a road. I didn't want to be woken up in the middle of the night by strangers. Besides, my mate Jack told me that while sleeping near this lake, a farmer kindly asked him to leave in the middle of the night few years before.

So after I had rested for an hour, I left to look for a more hidden place. The camp spot I found was not perfect - It wasn't by the water – but I could be invisible at night. I know that many travelers love to set out to find a place to camp. It’s like a game for them. Me, I always have a little apprehension of doing wild camp. This must be probably related to my inexperience in wild camping. But hey, after an hour of imagining the worst, I told myself that I was not risking much and I had to try to make the most of the present moment.

So I made a meal while waiting for night to fall to put my tent discreetly. I didn't want to attract the attention of the local fishermen either.

As I entered the tent, ready to sleep, I felt really stupid. The tent was like a real sauna!! In terms of insects, I was well protected by the mosquito net but the heat was really difficult to bear. I couldn't open the tent door or else I would be eaten alive by the bugs… I could hear them circling around the tent, attracted by a sweating smelly human and my phone light. So I had a hard time falling asleep. Usually, after a day of cycling like this, you can easily fall asleep around 9 p.m... I still told myself that the hotel in this season is nicer and that would save me from carrying a tent and sleeping gear (and a new lesson learned, a sleeping bag is useless in this season). The hammock could be the solution, I have one with an extra mosquito net, but I don't sleep very well in it... a new lesson learned on this trip !

Finally, I woke up at dawn. After packing all my mess, I had breakfast and a little coffee for the road.

I had around 50 kilometers to ride that day to get home and I had to work in the afternoon. The return went well, I followed a few roads lined with fields of tea and corn, but the landscapes were gradually less pleasant and more and more urban.

  I finally arrived around midday at home. I had ride 230 kilometers with 1200 meters of elevation gain. That was not bad in this heat.  At the end, I was super happy doing this trip: I had learn a lot for my future trips, I enjoyed the ride, saw beautiful landscapes, and met some nice people… I had beautiful memories in my head and only one desire: to leave again as soon as possible!!!

[lindoig4]

Now for Toronto

Our train to Toronto (actually two trains, one to Montreal and another from there to Toronto) didn’t leave until 5:30pm so we arranged a noon checkout and left our bags in the luggage room while we went shopping.  We needed lunch, but also food for the 24-hour train trip.  We stocked up, perhaps overstocked, with the necessaries, only to be told at the station that our meals were provided - contrary to the information we had been given previously.  Hopefully, we now won’t need to buy much in Toronto.

The meals on the train were quite good, but there was not a lot to see on the first leg because it was dark for a little more than half the trip.  Our cabin was cute with a bathroom at least as big as the one in our caravan, but it was a bit of a challenge for me climbing up to the top bunk without any sort of ladder.  It was pretty rocky at times during the night, but not enough to warrant seasick meds! The most impressive sight along the way was the St Lawrence Seaway.  It is MASSIVE and we crossed it twice - or was it thrice?  We got into a long conversation at breakfast with a Canadian woman who is on her way to Australia for another holiday - she has been there before - and I think I missed one of the crossings at that time.

Our second train was a little less luxurious, seats rather than a cabin and only meals to purchase, so we used some of the goodies we bought yesterday and only bought our drinks. This was a more varied trip as far as scenery went.  The first train went very largely though natural forest, but the second opened up into a lot more agriculture, corn farms mainly, but less trees adjacent to the track so we could see a lot more of the countryside, especially where it has been cleared. There are a lot more small towns, usually with very neat houses, with everything surrounded by green pastures, often sprinkled with clusters of yellow, white and pink wildflowers – very colourful.

Toronto!    (Just for the record, according to my (previous) dentist, I am now officially dead!  But I don’t believe it……  A couple of years ago, I had some outstandingly expensive dental work done, including some ultra-special porcelain fillings that he guaranteed would still be in pristine condition when I carked it.  I have had a series of problems with the work done, or not done properly, and a couple of night ago, one of my $1000+ fillings came out - so I am obliged to conclude that I am now officially/dentally deceased.  His guarantee obviously wasn’t worth much and I have long-since chosen a different dentist because of the other problems I have suffered so if anyone is thinking of using The Dental Company in Windsor, I suggest you consult widely before committing your superannuation fund to this practice.)

Toronto is a moderately big city – not sure what else I can say about it.  We quite enjoyed our stay, but the city itself didn’t leap out at us as having anything to really recommend it to us.

Our first day there was Father’s Day and I got some wonderful message from the kids – so thank you! We had a fairly busy morning with washing, unpacking, downloading and sorting photos and so on and after lunch we just strolled down to a nearby parkland that had some great gardens, mainly in hothouses.  There were several different areas with tropical plants, desert plants, orchids, and so on and we spent up to a couple of hours there browsing and photographing inside and outside.  I spied some cute squirrels there too – darker and smaller than the others we have seen so tried to photograph them too – without a lot of success.  I just love the cute little things.  They are almost fluid in their movements and glide along quite beautifully – Heather thinks I am a bit obsessive, but they are such lovely little creatures that I can’t help myself.  On the way back to the hotel, we found a supermarket and topped up a few supplies then went to the bar for Happy Hour drinks and a delicious snack.

Monday, we became uber-tourists (something we almost always eschew) and took a tour to Niagara Falls.  It was the Labour Day public holiday in Canada so there were even more people there than normal (13 million tourists each year and most of them were there with us). It was nearly 150km to get there and it didn’t start well.  One couple who were supposed to board the bus at the first stop with us never turned up – until more than half an hour later o the bus had to divert back to the starting point to collect them.  They sat behind us and were also late back on two other viewing stops along the way.  The also yabbered away in German right through the commentary, making it hard for us to follow what was being said.  They were not the only people constantly talking and I finally shouted out for everyone to quieten down and it did improve a bit after that – except for the German couple.

The bus ride was very bumpy.  I am pretty sure they left the suspension in the garage for repairs that day.  And the emergency escape window near my ear has to be the loudest rattliest window in North America, but we made the best of it and enjoyed the day.  The driver gave us a huge amount of information, talking almost continuously for the 90-minute trip to the helicopter field where a few of our number took a ride ($CA149 for 10 minutes) while the rest of us went a little further to the Whirlpool.  The river (a huge torrent) comes in over some rapids into a big basin where it swirls around quite dramatically before taking a sharp turn to starboard and thence races further along the deep valley.  While we were gawking at that, the bus went back to collect the helicopterists and we then went on to the actual Falls.

It is massive!  The border between the US and Canada runs down the centre of the Niagara River and divides just before the Falls making it two Falls – the American Falls and the Canadian or Horseshoe Falls – the latter being much bigger than the former.  The statistics are simply phenomenal – I think it was something like 20 million cubic feet of water a day – but looking at it, it might well be 2000 million!  It is basically indescribable – and the photos don’t even start to do justice to the magnitude, the noise, the power, the beauty, the sheer magnificence of it – and remember that more than half the volume is already diverted to generate hydro-power.

We strolled along the viewing area ,a few hundred metres of it, gaping and photographing as we went before returning to the bus to take us to lunch  We had a really nice 3-course meal in a restaurant that gave us a great view of the Falls – so out came the cameras again.  After lunch we drove through the town area to where we queued for a boat trip to the foot of the Falls.  You have to see the town to believe it.  It would put Disneyland to shame I think, loaded with stalls, rides, every imaginable theme house, glitz and razzmatazz like you wouldn’t believe – not the least attractive to us, but I am sure it all makes many people very rich.

We all got kitted out like pink lollypops with flimsy ponchos before being crowded onto the boat. There was quite a breeze, mainly generated from the massive volume of water crashing down around us, so half the time, my poncho was blowing around my shoulders instead of keeping me dry. Approaching the gigantic curtain of water was like standing outside in a huge downpour.  Even with my cape on and covering up as well as I could, my camera and one of my Hearing aids stopped working part-way through the 20-minute voyage. The noise was tremendous and floods of water assailed us constantly – so much so that a lot of the time, we couldn’t actually see a lot – we were too busy trying to wipe the gales of water out of our eyes.  Back on shore, we dried out as much as possible and I got my camera and hearing aid working again (thank goodness for that – I was dreading not being able to hear for the next 3 weeks) but we were back in Toronto before our clothes were dry again.  It certainly was an experience and I am glad we did it, but I am not sure I would rush to do it again – no matter how iconic the experience.

On the way back to Toronto ,we went to a winery – actually a wine college (4-year intensive degree course) for a tasting.  There were 3 wines, but the special one was icewine – a name like Champagne that is only legally used in 3 wineries in the world – one in Germany where it was ‘invented’ (but it now not producing) and two in Canada.  The grapes must be picked frozen after 3 successive days with temperatures between -8 and -15 degrees C – after 15 September each year and every part of the process must be completed within Ontario before the end of September to be called icewine.  It is quite low in alcohol (hard to crush or ferment at those temperatures) and is very sweet – and consequently produced in very low quantities (in small bottles) and it is very expensive, being sold in only a few outlets.  In Canada, all alcohol is sold and closely controlled by a government agency (you should see its huge HQ in Toronto) so if you want any booze at all, you have to find an store or outlet with LCBO splashed across it – we believe it stands for Liquor Control Board of Ontario.

We arrived back at our hotel after 7:30 so Heather just picked up some hot food at the supermarket and we ate in the room.  The supermarkets carry quite a range of ready-to-eat meals for one, or two, or a family and although not that cheap, they are quite affordable and very good tasty meals.

On Tuesday we ventured onto the Hop-On-Hop-Off bus for a tour of the city. The first bus we got on was pretty poor.  The woman giving the commentary spoke much too fast and had a heavy accent so it was very hard to make out what she was saying and this was complicated by the dreadful sound system onboard that converted everything to an unintelligible blur.  We got off at the next stop and waited for another bus, one with a pre-recorded commentary that was easy to follow.  I can’t say that Toronto grabbed me.  It doesn’t seem to have much that attracted me.  It wasn’t ugly, but just plain and with nothing that stood out to me – but maybe I wasn’t looking or listening properly.  The best part of the tour was that our tickets entitled us to a boat ride around the harbour and inner islands.  It was quite short (less than 30 minutes), but I enjoyed it and picked up 8 more new birds along the island shore.

One interesting note was that we saw a lot of pretty brown butterflies around the lake (and have seen more since).  When we asked about them, we were told that they are Monarch Butterflies, just starting their annual migration – to MEXICO!  These flimsy little bits of fluff fly well over 1000 kilometres to catch up with their boy- or girl-friends and make more new butterflies who do the same thing next year.  What a phenomenal feat of nature.  Must be equal to the beautiful Arctic Terns that fly close to 50,000 kilometres a year – about 3 times to the Moon and back in their lifetime.

We had a latish lunch at a lakeside restaurant before strolling along the harbour a way (more birds) and catching another HOHO back home.  On the way back, we stopped off at what National Geographic claims to be the world’s best food market!  Regrettably, they obviously haven’t visited many of the other ones we have because there was absolutely nothing to set it apart from many we have visited before. The appellation was certainly a mystery to us!

We had a short Happy Hour in the bar – only to be charged full prices because of their misleading information – but hopefully Tripadvisor might reflect our disappointment in due course.

[la-appel-du-vide]

THAILAND 2019 - Day Twelve {Krabi}

Today was another free day for us - meaning we didn’t have anything specifically booked or planned, we just knew we wanted to go visit Ao Nang Beach and Railay Beach! We got up and ready, tried to eat some toast in the hotel lobby but all the bread was gone, and then caught a taxi to Ao Nang Beach.

This is a major tourist area as well. There are a million shops, restaurants, boats for rent, etc. We thought it would be a good idea to eat something before we started our day, so we grabbed something quick, and then went over to the beach.

I suggested we start over on Railay Beach, because that’s the most popular one, and I thought we should get there before it got too crowded. We got to ride on another long-tail boat to get there, and that never gets old. So authentic, so traditional, so fun.(Bring a poncho though - you’re gonna get wet haha.)

We got to Railay Beach, took some photos with the huge line of long-tail boats, and then set out to find a smoothie of course. Mel said she had one of the best smoothies of her life on this beach, so we hoped to find it. (Spoiler - We didn’t.) We each ordered one from a different shop, and they were both much more like drinks instead of thick smoothies which is always a disappointment, but at least they tasted good and were cold!

We set up base camp in a shady spot, and then I went off to wade around the bay. The water temperature is amazing and refreshing, every single time I step into it. This area has a super sandy floor, which was a nice change from so much coral and rocks elsewhere. 

Can’t help but feel like these kinds of days are really what makes life worth living. We get through the mundane, boring routine of normal life for moments like these, and they really are worth it.

I wandered around for awhile, but then noticed some kayaks for rent that I thought would be a fun activity for us. I went back to where Beach was sleeping, and asked her if she thought we’d be capable of kayaking with all our important stuff, and not capsizing and destroying everything haha. We decided to give it a try, so we put all our money and phones in our little waterproof cases, and then wrapped my camera bag in two towels, and put it in Beach’s backpack. Once we were prepared, we went over to the rental area and filled out the paperwork to get one. Only then did we learn that we could leave our bags in the office. All that work for nothing. (;

We had a hard time carrying that heavy thing all the way out to the water, but once we got it in, we were solid. We paddled around the island, and even ran into a live, wild jellyfish! I spotted him, and we circled back to get a closer look. Could hardly believe our eyes. We’ve been up close to so much wildlife here!

We paddled into a couple sea caves (which were sooooo dark), over to a rock that had a gold stripe made out of some sort of tin wrapped all the way around it, and then stopped at a different beach so Beach could take a dip. I waded around behind here, and on the way back in, I got stung by a jellyfish. I went from fine to severe stinging pain on and around my knee. I tried to use water and sand to stop the pain, but nothing worked super well. I learned later that using water can actually release more toxins into your body and make things worth, so that was knowledge that came a little too late. No fun. The swelling took quite awhile to subside, and my freaking knee hurt the rest of the day. Ow ow ow.

I finally sucked it up and got back in the kayak,and we paddled around some more. I enjoyed laying down on the kayak, and just feeling the motion of the waves... it’s one of the most relaxing feelings in the world. UNTIL we hit the rocks. We took a different route going in than we had taken going out, and we regretted everything. We got stuck and high-centered on so many different rocks, and it was nearly impossible to get ourselves backed out of there so we could go in the right direction. Omg so frustrating hahaha.

But we made it. Carrying the wet kayak all the way back was even worse than the first time. My arms were dead. 

We grabbed our stuff and started wandering around the tourist area just off the beach. It’s such a cute little area, surrounded by palm trees, and so many things to see. Such chill vibes. Very island-y. We loved it.

Beach stopped to try a sugar crepe from a food stand we passed, and I would describe the “crepe” as something more like very sweet chips haha. It was so crunchy! Unexpected for sure!

We stopped and had lunch at a small, rooftop restaurant, and it was pretty good. Filled us right up. But not enough that I couldn’t get some more rolled ice cream from a stand we passed on our walk! I’m obsessed! This time I went with plain chocolate and Oreo. So delicious. I need one right outside my hotel tbh. 

We checked out some more of the souvenir shops, and I finally got Aubrey a Buddha statue. She seems to love Buddha lately, so I’ve been looking for a good one for her this whole time. Mission accomplished.

Ended our day at Railay Beach with some more photos in the bay. While we were out there, we came across ANOTHER jellyfish. Took some up-close photos of it (though they aren’t great due to the murky water), and then we got spooked and jetted on out of the water. We warned a nearby family they were there too, and they got out as well. Let me tell you from experience - OUCH. Don’t mess with those things. On our way out of the water, we came across a dead jellyfish floating to shore. Beach dragged it to the water’s edge and marked it with a stick. We hoped people would notice the stick and be careful. But nopeeee, just a few minutes later we noticed a little Asian girl wandering over to it. We were nervous watching her, as she got closer and closer. Finally, it looked like she was bending over to touch it and we couldn’t take it anymore. We jumped up, started running over to her screaming not to touch it, and probably scared her half to death. Her mom didn’t have much reaction down the beach a ways, which is interesting haha. But I also can’t imagine being a little kid and having two strangers start running at me yelling in a different language! We had the best intentions though, truly. Her dad finally understood what we were saying, and he came over to pull her away from the electrocution just waiting to happen. So we were basically superheroes today. Changing the world one potential jellyfish sting at a time.

We grabbed our stuff and went over to the long-tail boats to catch a ride back over to Ao Nang. For the record, I should mention that this sand is high up on my list of quality sand for the trip! Powder white, so soft, and I’m obsessed that’s all.

We got back over to Ao Nang just as the sun was starting to set. So beautiful to watch the sunset over the ocean, wow wow. We went looking for a smoothie (I know it sounds like we get them all the time but they are literally a dollar so it’s fine I promise), but wandered in and out of souvenir shops on our way. We picked up a couple more things - oops. And every smoothie location we passed had smoothies that looked way more like drinks than smoothies (trust me, there’s a difference - and we are paranoid af). So we eventually gave up and settled for some ice cream we found. I got a scoop of strawberry and a scoop of coconut, but literally right after he handed it to me, I turned around, started licking it, and the top scoop fell RIGHT off. Just like the movies. SAD.

So I had a scoop of strawberry. (;

We finished those as we walked back to the main dock area to get a taxi, and passed hella drag queens on our way, all dressed up and advertising a cabaret show. Very interesting, I’m kind of impressed with how realistically they can make themselves look like women... Like, how?? 

We also made the decision to send it and buy a watermelon smoothie to try, because we’ve seen them everywhere and were intrigued. It was not a good purchase tbh hahaha, not great. Mostly tasted like we were drinking watermelon juice. But we tried it! Now we won’t wonder. (;

The first taxi we tried was a disaster. She drove us like 3 minutes to a La La Moon in Ao Nang, and when we tried to explain that this wasn’t what we wanted, she insisted it was. Finally we got her to understand, and she said Krabi was too far and wanted us to get out, BUT SHE STILL WANTED US TO PAY HER. Like, lady... we could have walked to this point in five minutes. You didn’t take us where we wanted to go at all. Dumb. So we gave her just a little bit and that was that.

Found a community bus that travels from Ao Nang to Krabi for way cheap, so that worked out ok. It dropped us off near Walking Street, and then we were able to catch our own taxi back to the hotel pretty easily. 

Then the typical night routine - Tumblr, checking our phones, editing/posting pictures, travel logs, Beach does homework, we shower, and then bed.

It’s really not a bad life. (;

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Likewise

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: AU where reader and Steve meet at an art show.

It was eight at night, the wind blew against your cheek as you drove down a long highway. Once a month, you took the 20 minute drive to the small artist gallery, tucked away in a quiet street, surrounded by a Mexican market, a gas station and a thrift store.

The high desert night was cool, so you wore a pair of black jeans, a loose black blouse and a long green utility jacket. Nerves sprang from your toes, swelling up to your chest.

Once a month, you’d make the trip to the next town, hoping for a chance to see him. It was pathetically sad, you knew this, but still, it was something to look forward to. After long hours at a job you didn’t hate, but disliked, it was nice to have a little something to work towards.

Yes, it was ridiculous.

The two of you had never spoken, except once, when he stood in front of the large mason jar beverage dispenser filled with sangria. You asked him quietly to pass you one of the white styrofoam cups and he poured you a couple of the cheap wine, handing it over with a kind smile.

You couldn’t speak, stunned by the blue of his eyes, so you just smiled back and walked away. It was all very pathetic, sad, ridiculous and embarrassing, but still, you made the trip every four weeks. Granted it started off with the real interest of displaying your artwork, different themes each month - it was good practice and kept you sane. It was only when you finally encounter the man, that it became even more important to participate each month and somewhere, somehow, the two of you connected over social media- specifically Instagram. You realized it was probably the work of the art gallery’s own IG page, because they had tagged your artwork in a photo and you suppose that’s how he found you.

So, there was that.

The small indication that he at least knew you existed and possibly interested in your art, at least you hoped.

You came to the street and quickly found parking a few feet away from the small structure, where people stood around listening to a band play outside. You turned off the car and got out, grabbing your bag with you. Locking up, you swung the bag across your chest and proceeded toward the gallery.

Right away, you noticed how awful the music was. The singer’s voice was off key and he screamed a little too close to the microphone, but somehow, it all worked with the atmosphere. You smiled at a familiar face, the gallery’s owner, who was bobbing his head to the music. He waved and you waved back, motioning that you were going to head inside.

To your delight, it was pretty empty - mostly everyone was outside, listening to the band or ordering food from the taco truck that was parked in front. Unlike outside, where it was cool, but muggy, the room was air conditioned and felt fresh. The Arctic Monkeys played at a low volume in the background and you beelined it to the free wine, pouring a full cup. Taking little sips, you walked over to the wall of paintings and stood there, taking each one in, until you got to your own.

The media was digital, a print. It was of Princess Leia (the month’s theme was Star Wars) wearing the Endor outfit with the green camouflage poncho. It was a favorite of yours.

You heard the door open to the gallery, but didn’t look, instead you stood there critiquing your print - thinking of ways you could have made it better.

“Everyone always thinks of the gold bikini, but I like her best in that outfit.”

You turned to the admirer and are taken back by a pair of blue eyes, matched with a soft smile.

It was him.

“Yeah,” you managed quietly, fighting back the nervousness with a sip of sangria.

“This one’s yours, right? I saw it on your Instagram,” he nodded to the print and you said yes.

“You’re Steve, right?”

He was, you knew this, but he didn’t know you knew.

“Yeah,” he grinned, holding out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Y/N,” you offered and he said he knew, saw it on your profile.

“You’re stuff is really amazing,” he enthused, tucking both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I really like your Star Wars stuff, especially that Jabba the Hut one.”

You thanked him and felt yourself relaxing, asking him which piece was his - as if you didn’t know. He motioned for you to follow him to the opposite side of the room and you marveled at the large canvas.

It was the Death Star in all it’s glory - dark, ominous, and powerful.

“That..that is amazing,” you gushed and Steve chuckled, a hint of red flushed his cheeks.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” you offered with a smile.

Steve cleared his throat and asked if you’d like a drink, pointing to the small refreshment table next to the door. You laughed and held up the cup.

“Right, how about a taco?”

Your heart pounded as you agreed, as long as he was paying you said to him playfully, wondering where that bravery came from. Steve chuckled and said he was definitely offering.

The two of you went outside and walked up to the taco truck, both wincing at the live music.

“That kid needs to step a foot back from the mic,” Steve grimaced and you laughed.

“Or maybe we’re just too old to enjoy that sorta music.”

“Maybe.”

After ordering three tacos each, you waited patiently for the order, off to the side and away from the music. Steve asked if you were staying the whole night and you shrugged, telling him that you didn’t work the next day. He asked what you did and you sighed, telling him about the mind numbing retail job you worked.

“It pays the bills, right?”

“Sure.”

“Well, then it’s a job you should be proud of.”

“Maybe.”

He laughed then and shrugged. “What do you want to do then?”

At that moment, your order was called and you smiled. “I want to eat those tacos.”

Steve gathered the plates, while you managed the the drinks, including your sangria. You followed the man to one of the small picnic tables on the side of the building, and took a seat across from him. It was a little dark, but a lamp fixture above you gave some light.

“How come we never talked before?”

You looked up from the taco in your hand and didn’t know what to say. The truth? Which was simple, you were too shy, too nervous, to ever approach him. His eyes waited for an answer, so you shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, it’s not for a lack of trying on my end,” he pointed out and you chuckled.

“What?”

Steve shifted in his seat and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for months now.”

He has?

“You have?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I know this might sound weird, but I saw you on the gallery’s Instagram and followed you.”

You relished in that fact and waited for him to go on.

“I guess..well...you just seem like a person I’d like to get to know.”

Your heart raced, holding tight to every word that flowed out of his mouth. He wanted to talk to you for months, wanted to get to know you. He blushed with embarrassment and you quickly drew up a hand in the air.

“I have a confession to make,” you said, bring the hand down. “I’ve been coming here each month in hopes that I’d see you.”

Steve’s mouth pulled into a wide smile and he quickly glanced at his lap, trying to hide his obvious amusement. The two of you sat silently for a moment, realizing the other had been doing the same thing - coming to the art show each month to catch a chance at seeing one another.

Your eyes finally met Steve’s and the two of you burst into a collective laugh at the predictability of the situation.

“So all this time,” you laughed. “All this time we could have been talking?”

Steve laughed too.  “Apparently.”

Well,” you sighed, holding up the cheap wine. “It’s good to finally meet you, Steve.”

He grabbed his soda can and clinked it against the styrofoam cup you were holding.

“Likewise.”

Forever tags:  @my-amazing-nerdyness @naih-reedus @maciiiofficial @casownsmyass @jade-taillia @fangirlextraordinaire @indominusregina @feelmyroarrrr @my-rainbow-wonderland @myhopeisinfinite @girl-next-door-writes @dontbeamenacetotheforce @melonberri @superisatomboyuniverse @xloudwhocares @crownie-sr @dracsgirl @moonlight53 @makemyownwonderland @dreamwhisper87 @trekken81  @barely-emily @winterboobaer @purelittleblueberry @goodnightwife @mishaissocoollike  @stormyfandoms @foreverybodythatunderstands23 @gallifreyansass @flirtswithdanger @yana-tardis-drwho @myplaceofthingsilove   @jchona  @alyssaj23  @blackhoneybucky @urbanspacedecay @castieltrash1 @hannahsakorax3 @imagine-all-the-imagines  @motleymoose @distinguishedqueenofbooks @kitkatgaming @fizzylollipop12 @iamwarrenspeace  @darkmystress00 @lunarwolfrose  @kapolisradomthoughts @sisinia13 @swiggityswagness  @takemetoneverland91 @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @sarah-mos @rubynationwins @padfootorionblack @kaywolves @wonderlace19 @yourxaveragexslythergit @purelittleblueberry   @courtneychicken @rayleyanns  @whatmakesmebeme-tblr @thewinterwitch @avengersgirllorianna @holywinchesterness @tatortot2701 @brewsthespirit-blog @seabasschino @barnesvogue @lame-lozer @ex-bookjunky @travelwithwords @corolux   @supernaturaldean67 @maddieolivialove

[themushroomtree]

Thoughts on Etsy vs. other venues

After ten years selling on Etsy, I got tired of the ever-increasing amount of promotion I found myself having to do, and decided to take 2017 off to sell at in-person venues instead. I sell at the local farmers market every Friday and so far I've made an average of $20 in sales each week. Which is definitely better than nothing at all, and it's been an interesting experiment to see what people gravitate towards and what they ignore. Everyone else involved in the market has been reminding me not to get discouraged, and that my second year will likely be much better as few people do well in their first year, especially those selling non-consumables. I put on a chipper face and insist that I am just thrilled to help support the market with my presence, but inside I can feel myself starting to get deflated. I busted ass cranking out a beautiful line of patchwork headbands and a bunch of lovely upcycled wrap skirts, which I posted many photos of here on this blog. These were to be my spring/summer sales, since most of my already-available stock was winter stuff. So far I have sold ONE headband and ZERO skirts. People don't even LOOK at the headbands, and I've tried many different ways of displaying them. I know full well that most people coming through the market have only a few bucks to spend and probably think my prices are too high ($45 for the skirts and $20 for the headbands). I'll probably reduce the prices come fall, but I'm reluctant to do that just to get sales, since I can only charge so little before I operate at a loss. People line up to buy my magnets, small plushies and armwarmers, which is terrific. I can always sew more of those. But it's disheartening to have everything else - the stuff I essentially made a production about - be ignored. Especially since I have to make those bigger items in order to create the scraps I use to make my popular sellers. That's where my heart lies, anyway. I deeply enjoy crafting one-of-a-kind pieces of wearable art. Everything else I make is secondary to that. I was talking with a fellow vendor at a recent event (not the market) who had been getting a similarly lukewarm reception to her wares. She asked me about Etsy, since she said people had been suggesting she open a store on the site. I gave her my thoughts on the matter, and at one point in that conversation I told her that I could sit here day in day out and not have anyone look at my ponchos or dresses, but Etsy customers will happily shell out over $100 apiece for them. She was thoroughly impressed. It got me thinking that maybe I should do both. Make cheap stuff for the market, and save my expensive bespoke items for Etsy. And use both venues to cross-promote the other. All I know is that I am dog-tired of hauling my storage bins of stuff back and forth every week. I mean, yeah, I've only been doing this for a few months, and there are still many autumn and holiday events coming up that I plan to sell at. I feel more hopeful about making good money at those. So we'll see how that pans out, and I may return to Etsy in 2018. 

[onstates-blog]

29.08.17 A 6:45am wake up call was seemingly a breeze bearing in mind we were both awake before the alarm even sounded. We got up, ate breakfast, drank juice and coffee, made sure our sweet treats that we bought from Bunners yesterday were safely packed and headed to the city bike dock down the road. I don't know if we have already talked about the city bikes over here or not, but let me just say, they are awesome. It's super cheap at around 9 quid for three days worth of use. The hire includes as many 30 minute journeys as you want across the time you have hired them for, there are docks on nearly every block so you could literally cycle on them all day and just keep docking and taking a new one if you so wished. You wouldn't need to do this though as you can get in to and around the city so quickly. The roads and drivers over here are super cycle friendly and the bikes are well equipped with a basket and lights. ANYWAY... so we got on our bikes and set off for the station! I was surprised to see how many people were heading to work at 7:20 in a morning and also slightly embarrassed that I had chosen to wear a slightly shorter dress than was maybe totally appropriate for a bike ride after reasoning with myself that there would be no one around at that time in the morning! Not to worry though as I had a trusty scarf with me that came to the rescue to alter my outfit slightly! Once in Union Station we headed to our train gate and got in line to have our tickets and our photo ID checked as the train we were on goes across the American / Canadian border. The train journey was pleasant, the conductor was v. likeable - he seemed like a guy who just liked to get stuff done while being polite and jolly, and I like that in a person! I have just tweeted the rail company to pass on my like too. We listened to a podcast, ate our snacks and drank some more coffee (we like ☕) The train we were travelling on was an AMTRAK service in partnership with the Canadian rail service VIA. 10 minutes before the train arrived at Niagara the conductor went through each carriage to explain that the train would stop twice, once for the American operators to take over the journey and secondly for us leaving the train at the Canadian side of the falls to get off. Weird huh? Once off the train we decided to walk for around 40 mins along the elevated river path to the actual waterfalls. The river is the most intense blue/green/turquoise colour you can imagine and moves so so fast. We could hear the waterfalls before we could see them which just added to the excitement of actually being there. It wasn't long before we could see them too and they were AMAZING! Straight away you can tell that the Canadian side of the falls (and view) is much much MUCH more impressive than that on the American side. We went straight to buy our tickets for the boat ride in to the falls and quickly walked through the maze of ropes and walkways down to the jetty. We picked up our bright red ponchos on the way and made sure we took loads of photos looking like complete dorks and then got on the boat. I instantly felt sick and was genuinely regretting getting on board but then the excitement took over and I kinda forgot about it until the end of the trip. WE GOT SO WET ON THE BOAT! I mean, we were expecting to get wet, they give you ponchos for gods sake but they don't cover your whole body. Our shoes were soaked through and so were Owens jeans and shirt sleeves! It turned out that even though the dress wasn't a good choice for cycling it was perfect for chasing waterfalls! The boat trip lasted around 30 minutes and we motored past the American falls and in to the horseshoe (because of the shape of it) falls on the Canadian side. There was a brief audio description in which it let us know that Canada is very proud of its superior water feature and informed us that it is predicted that the American falls won't actually be there much longer and they would instead become a series of rapids due to the force of the water eroding the cliff edge. The boat went what felt like so far in to the mist of the horseshoe falls and it was exhilarating to see and hear all the water whooshing over the edge and down in to the river. We motored back to the dock and disembarked, our legs feeling a bit wobbly, we decided to sit down for a bit, have another snack (crisps) dry off a little bit and calm down from all the fun. Then we began to make our way down to the waterfall on foot to get a view of it from above. We were glad that we kept our ponchos as the mist from the fall was blowing up so high it genuinely felt like it was raining and every now and again when the wind died down it would stop! From here you can see down in to the river and we watched the boats moving around down there. It became quite obvious from this angle that we hadn't gone very far in to the waterfall at all! As we were soaked again we decided to grab some lunch and ate it outside. We listened to some people who were on a trip with 'Diamond Tours' that seemed very friendly with each other, I assume that happens as you get older, there would be no way on earth that I would be inviting some strangers to sit and talk to me. We moved on to a sun spot to dry out and eat some fruit. We thought for a while about doing another Niagara Falls attraction 'journey behind the falls' where you go down nearer the base of the waterfall and get soaked in a yellow poncho or to go up the Skylon tower to get a view from a higher perspective. We decided on neither and opted to sit in the sun and enjoy the view from where we were. We had a couple of hours to spare until the train home and we decided to walk across a bridge until we got to the border controlled section, little did we know that we had to show our passports before even entering the bridge so we decided not to just in case they wouldn't let us back in. There is literally no reason why this would have happened but we decided that the faff wasn't worth walking half way over a bridge. In the end this actually worked out for the best as we got to witness a kid cycling around a park fall off his bike about 5 times. He wasn't hurt, he was fully protected from these falls (helmet, knee and elbow pads) and he always got straight back on, only to topple off it 30 seconds later! I know you shouldn't laugh at things like this but, nah, of course you should, laugh the kind of laughter that makes tears roll down your face, laughter that makes you unable to breath... or maybe Owen and I are just cruel? We then walked up the Niagara Strip which is genuinely terrifying. I guess Niagara is a bit like a mix between Scarborough and Las Vegas in the sense of it's literally got everything, casinos, water parks, waxwork museums, fun houses, dungeons, tat shops etc etc etc. We did not like this and began to slowly walk back to the station for our 17:45 train back to Toronto. The conductor had warned us in the morning that the train is usually delayed leaving the station on an evening, this is because the train station effectively becomes the border between Canada and America. Therefore anyone who boarded the train in America needed to go through customs! This has to be done before anyone can board the train! The delay was only 15 minutes and we were on our way home with another podcast to listen to, seats reclined and footrests up! Once back in Toronto we headed to a supermarket to grab some food and drink for tea, headed to the bikes and cycled home, stopping on a bridge on the way to get a photo of the CN Tower lit up against the night sky! Back in the apartment we had a quick tea, drank some beer and cider, washed the day off us and collapsed in a heap in bed! N x

[travelsofablonde]

A Home, A Home, A Home!

I'm not sure what day of the week it is... you kind of lose track of that here (at least we in the group do). I think it's Saturday. We've been in country about a week. But this weekend was really really special for me because we're finally in Scotland!

We hopped a train from Chester to Edinburgh at around 9 in the morning and the ride was around 3 1/2 hours. It was a relatively smooth ride and we only had one connection. The first day it was really warm out and we walked from the hostel (The Baxter just across from our train station at Waverley) all the way up to just before Edinburgh Castle at the top of the Royal Mile. Then we walked all the way down it to Hollyrood Castle. Let me tell ya'll... that walk is TOUGH. It's all up hill and your feet will be throbbing by the end. But I did and it was worth it! All along the mile are souvenir shops and whiney shops and a ton of cashmere shops.

When you finally run into Hollyrood you don't immediately know it's the palace. But once you walk through the gates under the words "Queens Rooms" it becomes apparent. It's a large palace with beautiful gardens and the ruins of an old abbey attached. And it's just at the base of Arthur's Seat, a large but beautiful crag outcropping.

The exhibit inside the palace was great but a bit crowded and there was almost no air flow except for the stale stuffy air in the rooms as the windows were barely even cracked and the amount of people made it impossible to cool down. We also weren't allowed to take photos inside so i'm afraid I only have outdoor photos for everyone. However the photos I got of the Abbey ruins are AMAZING!

After Hollyrood we went to dinner at a place called Poncho Villa's (literally Spaniards cooking Mexican food) but it was free (the uni covered it) so of course we weren't going to turn it down and it ended up being DELICIOUS! If you're even in Scotland and missing Texas I recommend it! It's not quite Tex-Mex but it actually comes close and the strawberry margarita is to die for!

That night was quiet and I slept like a baby in my 6 bed room with I shared with several girls from my program. We had to sleep with the window open since there's no A/C (literally almost no places in the UK have it) but the weather here is very cool and mostly rainy so it was a very comfy temperature all night long.

We woke up around 7:30 to free breakfast and tea and got ready to catch the train to Dundee! It was only about an hour/hour and a half train ride but it was pleasant and the country side was mesmerizing. I don't know how to convey to everyone how verdant and green it is here or how breathtaking the views are. My photos just can't capture the beauty. It's something you have to come here to see for yourself.

Once we arrived in Dundee we walked (literally) across the street into the V&A Design Museum. The V and A stand for Victoria and Albert, as in Queen Victoria and her consort Albert. It's got a very interesting and modern design, kind of looks like a ship at port. And the interior is brand new (opened last year I believe) and sleek. There's 1 permanent exhibit which we viewed, and a temporary one (it cost extra) which I chose not to see as it was on video game design and didn't pertain to our trip or my paper. It was a very small museum (literally 2 1/2 exhibits on 1 floor and a cafe and gift shop on another) and didn't take us long to get through and we were quickly released to explore Dundee, find lunch, or head back to Edinburgh on our own if we so chose.

I teamed up with a group of girls and we walked into Dundee in search of proper pub food. We ended up a quaint little place called Bank Bar and I ordered Mince and Tatties. It's almost like a meat stew on a plate with mashed potatoes, peas, and carrot and potato slices on the side. It was REALLY good! It had a lot of flavor but it wasn't overbearing and it really hit the spot after I only had a light breakfast of bran flakes and tea. After lunch myself and my friends Hannah Ricks and Hannah Baker decided to walk further into Dundee to view some historic churches we had seen on the train ride in. Unfortunately the churches were closed so we settled for photos on the outside. I also got some great candid photos of the locals who were more than happy to let me snap a few. Eventually we made our way back to the train station and caught a train back. The ride was great and we ended up chatting with some locals who recommended new places and experiences we needed to try before leaving Scotland in a few days.

Once back in Edinburgh we headed to the hostel to handle some business and nap. I had to strip my bed and search it for bed bugs because one of the girls in my room woke up with mysterious red welts that continued to spread throughout the day. Luckily it's not bed bugs. We're fairly certain it's either an allergic reaction to something (we've loaded her up on meds) OR midges (annoying bugs than can bite you and just fly around... like nats or chiggers). Either way she got a new room and we got fresh bedding just to be safe (our mattresses are encased in plastic mattress pads and treated after every stay). I took a nap, it was great, I wish I had gotten to sleep longer!

BUT I made myself get up and not waste the rest of the daylight (literally impossible to do, it's not dark here till nearly 11). Most of the group was going to go with Dr. Mann to hike up Arthur's Seat (super big rock outcropping that's literally a straight up vertical hike/climb) but I decided not too because swollen, sore, blistered feet and asthma. Also my professor speed walks on his magical calves of speed. We've also taken to referring to him as young Henry VIII due to his physical endurance and his commanding presence and his just plain arrogance (but it's still cool). I was originally going to meet up with my friends Kyla, Rayanna, and Desmond but ended up not doing that because we honestly all keep forgetting to check our phones and messages! Instead I grabbed my camera and backpack and walked to and up the Royal Mile alone. It was really calming and pleasant. Everyone was very nice when I spoke to them and I took some great photos. I also perused the shops a bit and it was during this that the best part of the day happened. In a tiny, hole in the wall souvenir shop I found the badge to my families' Scottish Clan, Clan Hume (also called Clan Home). The title of this blog is the clan motto. The reason this was so awesome is because I've searched for something like this before and NEVER was I able to find it. But I found it today! Of course I bought it, I couldn't just leave it there! However, finding this prompted me to do something else I've been considering acting on for a while. I decided to find a scarf or a shawl or a tartan with my clans colors on it. This was a bit more difficult as there are HUNDREDS of clans in Scotland and stores don't carry every single clans colors in store. After going to 5 different shops I stumbled into a Kilt-Maker's shop and there, behind the counter, was this older gentleman in a bright red kilt and vest with a smile on his face. Somehow I knew it was going to be the one, and it was! I showed him our colors and he asked if I was looking for clan Hume and when I said yes he pulled out a fabric swatch book. This book was one of four and had swatches of fabric for EVERY SINGLE CLAN COLOR IN SCOTLAND WITH THEIR NAMES ATTACHED! He pointed out the colors to me, confirmed they were correct and asked what I would like to have made! After discussing pricing I settled on a scarf which he assured me would take two weeks and that he would have it shipped to me at my dorms in Chester! So not only did I find our clan badge, but I also found something with our colors that I can always wear! It's worth mentioning that I also found our clans war time badge but it was 50 pounds and I didn't buy that. I walked around a bit more after that but not for long. I was hungry and the skies looked like rain so I headed back to the hostel to see if anyone wanted dinner. This is where the second best part of the day comes in!

I met up with my friend Desmond and we went in search of a nearby pub for dinner. In my opinion pubs are the best places to eat in the UK. They range from cheap to expensive and usually have local and American-esque food, I'm always in search of the local. We ended up at an off the beaten path place called The Conan Doyle. If you're ever in Edinburgh you must come here. It's not the cheapest nor the most expensive place, more middle of the road as far as price goes, but the food and drinks are FANTASTIC! It's themed around Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his Sherlock Holmes writings. It's got a great upbeat atmosphere but also has dine in only seating separate from the bar area if you so choose. We didn't, we sat by the bar, and I'm so glad we did! Across the aisle from us was a loud and rowdy table that just kept adding more and more people and on one side of the table were 3 women singing at the top of their lungs! They sang everything from Queen to Carry Underwood and when they realized I wasn't just filming them but singing along they demanded I sing with them! It was so much fun! We traded off choosing songs and before long I was known as 'Texas' and there were a great many demands from the group "Texas, lead us in a song!" "Texas do you know the words to this?!" "Texas give us a jig!". I wish I could remember their names, and if any of you somehow magically find this blog please know you were the most incredible group of people and so kind and so fun and you made my night! I hope you do come to visit in Texas, we would love to have you! We got videos and photos of course but before long it was time to head back. The walk was uneventful... except for the already drunk and half dressed people at 8:30 at night (all hilarious and good natured, some missing pants). I've been assured this is perfectly normal in Scotland and Ireland. We even ran into some bachelor/ette parties who were good fun!

Now I'm back at the hostel, in the common room, wrapped in a scottish shawl typing to all of you lovelies! The windows are open and the breezes is flowing in and I'm listening to the bustling street below. It's so lovely here. I never want to leave. Tomorrow we go to Sterling then we get 3 days on our own! I've made plans! You'll hear all about them soon enough ;)

I know I'm not blogging with any regularity....but it's really hard to do with our schedule here and there's not always wifi or a plug for my computer! Just know I'm always thinking of stories to tell you all and that I will get them all on here at some point! They may not be in order but at least they'll be recorded! I have some surprises in store for everyone... and I hope you like them all... can't give everything away in the blog yet though ;)

I miss you all.. and I love love love it here. This is going to be my home one day. I know it the way I know the suns going to rise. From the moment I watched the train cross the border I knew this was right. And each time I have a moment the way I did in a tiny out of the souvenir shop that no one goes into .. I know it even more.

Thank you all for reading my rambling trip updates! Don't forget to check out my donation site. I really do need help with bills while I'm gone. As great as this trip is I would really like a place to come home too when it's over! haha Please feel free to share the blog with others. I promise to make it prettier or more interesting. I'm still working on the photos issue but so far no luck.

Cheers loves!

-Chey

P.S.- We have a hostel mascot! His name is Bertie! He lets me scratch him for several minutes every morning! 

[m-artini-s-blog1]

Travel Tips for your Trip to Cancun

Need some Cancun Travel Tips? No matter if you are looking for white sandy beaches and crystal clear blue water for your daily relaxing phase. Or if you fancy dining out and party in a thrilling nightlife scene, Cancún has it all! It is known as Mexico’s Mekka of beautiful beaches, SPA and pumping nightclubs. And on top of that, Cancún is the perfect starting point for your Maya Expedition! This sounds perfect? It gets even better! From many destinations from all around the world, this Mexican tourist hotspot attracts many travellers because of the low airfares. From Europe flights get as cheap as USD 541 roundtrip (as seen on Skyscanner in November 2015). So, dive in and join me on a trip and this post about Cancun Travel Tips.

ACCOMMODATION: Where to stay in Cancún?

My Cancun Travel Tips start with accommodation: Depending on your budget and the type of travel you are planning, Cancun offers two options: the centre/downtown area or the Hotel Zone (“Zona Hotelera”). For me as a nomad/ longterm traveller, I am always chasing the most economic and convenient options. At the moment I am housesitting in Merida, for example, in order to lower my budget…but that’s a different story.

If you want to save money on accommodation in Cancún you’re better off staying in the city centre. We chose a wonderful hostel called Mezcal Hostel, close to the ADO which is the main bus terminal in Cancún. For one month we formed part of their team and supported the hostel in the area of marketing and guest relations. It was a great way to save money and put some action into our daily travel-life.

We found this place through a website called Worldpackers which is an organisation that helps travellers and hostels around the world to connect. You don’t work for money but volunteer and receive free accommodation in exchange. On top of that we got some free tours to some of the attractions in and around Cancún! Not bad for 4 hours of Social Media Marketing.

BEACHES: Where to soak in the sun

If you chose to stay in the “Hotel Zone” you’ll be surrounded by restaurants, bars, clubs and also Cancun’s beaches. And there are many of them:  on the 18km long strip that divides Cancun’s centre and the beach area most of the important hotels have their beaches in front of them.

Visit web site Airport Transfer Cancun

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Here are some public beaches:

Playa Tortugas

Playa Marlín

Playa Ballenas

Playa Delfines (*my favourite beach, all photos in this section!)

If you stay in the city centre like we did, you can get to all the above beaches with the local bus R1. It takes about 15-25 minutes, depending which one you chose (Playa Delfines is the furthest away, Playa Tortugas is the closest). The bus costs 10.50 Mexican Pesos no matter where you get off. My favourite beach is definitely “Playa Delfines” where you find the very colourful CANCUN sign. If you intend to take a picture with the sign, bring some time and patience: people line-up for it!

SHOPPING: What else to do while in Cancun

Apart from the beaches, shops and restaurants there is a very popular market amongst tourists where you will find all sorts of Mexican souvenirs: “Mercado 28“. You can buy everything from Sombreros, Ponchos, Ceramics, Pottery, Jewelery to Tequila, Sweets, Spices and more. It’s a fun way to spend a couple of hours and make sure to hang out till lunch time, some of the restaurants sell great food. Look out for the “Menú del Día” options, where you can some delicious local food for a good price!

NIGHTLIFE: Where to shake your booty

And then there is one Must-do for all the party animals out there: Cancún attracts many club lovers for its vibrant nightlife scene. People come to party in Mexico’s tourist hotspot in order to see the “Cirque de Soleil” of Cancun in clubs like Coco Bongo, Pallazo and Co. Most clubs offer ‘open bar’ for their pricy entry fees, so you really have a mission to complete by the end of the night: get as many drinks as possible so your 80 USD are well spent. Luckily we are not passionate about clubs, so we didn’t spend money on it. But as part of our hostel volunteer program, we went one time for free as part and watched the spectacle… I prefer smaller places like Señor Frog for example, even though they are sometimes not even less crazy…

For organised and guided pub and club tours, I recommend Party Rockers. This is a great tour agency that organises everything you want in order to have fun whilst in Cancun, from night and day tours, they offer great deals!

ITINERARY

: Cancun Travel Tips for one Day

Have breakfast at your hotel or hostels (most places offer breakfast included or for a small additional fee they prepare you something)

Stroll through the stalls at “Mercado 28” and find some nice Mexican souvenirs!

Eat lunch at one of the local restaurants close to the ‘Ayuntamiento’ before you hop on the bus R1 to the Hotel Zone.

Relax at one of Cancun’s many beautiful beaches like “Playa Delfines”, “Playa Marlin” or “Playa Tortugas”

Sip a Margarita and watch the sunset at “JC Capitan” and stay for dinner!

Dance the night away in one of the many bars and nightclubs on the hotel strip

But the best part starts now: From Cancun you can make a ton of day trips…So, stay tuned for my next blog post with travel tips about: “Things to do in and around Cancún” that includes the following destinations: IslaMujeres, Chichen Itza, Cozumel, Playa del Carmen and Holbox Island!!

Fuente: http://www.jeyjetter.com/cancun-travel-tips/

[junker-town]

The bloodlines of America run through the Kentucky Derby

48 hours inside the gates of America's most famous horse race

I’m in the beach and swimwear section of the basement-level T.J. Maxx on Wall Street in New York City and I’m frantic. I’m going to Kentucky tomorrow for the Derby, a strange Southern party that has always fascinated me, a Yankee from New England.

“Do you have a hat?” my editor asked me earlier today, and I realized I expected one to magically appear when I got to Louisville. That’s clearly not how things work, so here I am, trying to decide between the lesser of two straw evils. I send a picture of each to my mother. She tells me to buy the white one because the black one makes me look like I’m going to a funeral.

The next morning I get on a plane, cross several state lines, and land in the pouring rain among the lush green hills and steel gray rivers of Louisville.

Two women, who I assume are from some sort of tourism department, greet arriving passengers at the gate. Their hats match their red, rose-printed dresses, and I marvel at the feathers and curlicues cascading out from their brims.

My hat is crushed in my bag.

“I had a bunch of girls from Vanderbilt in the car wearing ponchos before you, so it smells like flowers and plastic,” says my Uber driver named Randy. We’re driving through the rain, passing boarded-up houses that surround Churchill Downs.

I’m on my way to the Oaks, the set of races held the Friday before the Kentucky Derby. Everything we pass is gray, except for the blinking red and blue lights of a police cruiser and the yellow caution tape marking off a crime scene next to it. There’s a big heroin problem in the neighborhood around Churchill Downs, Randy says. Homicides have been on the rise, too.

Inside the track, the white-washed tunnels feel like a mix of a country club and the concourse of a baseball stadium. It smells like cigars, beer, and a front yard after a heavy rain.

Everything here is pink, from people’s outfits to the banners hanging from the painted rafters. It’s Filly Day, and some of the proceeds go to breast cancer research. I didn’t realize Filly Day was a thing, so I’m wearing a black dress, my stupid hat, and black toenail polish. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m from New York.

The people in lines inch closer to the betting windows or booze vendors as they wait to bet or buy what’s probably their thirteenth mint julep or aluminum bottle of Bud Light. They look miserable. They should be miserable, because a steady drizzle alternates with downpours, and everyone is dressed for what they want the weather to be. Women stick it out in sundresses and rompers, bearing their shoulders, midriffs, knees. The cuffs of men’s seersucker pants are caked with mud, their sleeves wet. They’re playing pretend, wearing costumes and acting like they enjoy shivering on a 45-degree day.

A damp cold has settled into my bones, numbing my toes, tensing up the muscles in my shoulders and the back of my neck. I want to leave, but I haven’t seen a horse race yet. I’ve never seen a horse race, so as the bugle blows, I go down to the rail by the track and hold onto the wet metal.

The gates open and the race starts on the opposite side. I watch the Jumbotron set up in the infield, an open cage for drunk people which is slightly cheaper ($90) than the cheap seats in the grandstands ($175). Suddenly the horses, the purest manifestation of bloodlines, the embodiment of animal eugenics, round the corner and go from screen to flesh.

Their hooves spin through the track, which looks like frosting on a cake that’s been left out in the sun. Mud spatters the horses’ flanks and creeps up the jockeys’ legs, whose silks haven’t changed in 150 years. The jockeys strike the backsides of the beasts with riding crops.

I strain against the rail, speed and strength hurtling through my chest. I didn’t expect the race to be so visceral, to be so overwhelmed, for the horses to run right through me. I feel like someone knocked the wind out of my lungs.

What I can’t feel is my entire left foot at this point, and I’m having trouble typing notes on my phone because my fingers are so stiff with cold, so I leave. Outside the gates, I have to step through an obstacle course of soggy horse race trash that covers the stone entrance: shattered mint julep glasses, soaked betting books, cigarette butts, the runoff of American vices. It looks like a hangover.

In the middle of all of it, there’s a guy selling red t-shirts. He holds one up, and yells out the slogan stamped across the front: “Donald Fucking Trump,” he cries. “Donald Fucking Trump!”

I’m at the Barnstable Brown Gala on Friday night standing three feet away from Tom Brady. A barricade of folding chairs separates me from the football god as he holds court. His teammates Danny Amendola and Jimmy Garoppolo sit on one side of him, and an old guy I don’t recognize sits on the other.

A muscled man in a suit and a flat-billed Navy hat — clearly Brady’s Guy — swats away people wearing sparkling evening gowns and crisp tuxedos. They keep trying to sneak through the makeshift guardrail of seats. He firmly tells them, in a pronounced Boston accent, to stop.

Stahhhhp.

Brady’s Guy is raising his voice at one particularly adamant woman when all of a sudden I hear the sound of splintering wood and look over to see Brady’s chair spontaneously collapse, sending him crashing to the floor. There’s a collective gasp as Brady’s Guy springs to the quarterback’s side to help him up. Brady looks stunned at first, then starts to laugh. He stands up and brushes himself off.

“Was this your chair?” he jokes to another suited man. Brady grins. “Sorry I broke it.”

The surrounding crowd breaks out into relieved laughter.

The Gala is an annual event that the Barnstable-Brown family hosts the night before the Derby. There might not be official aristocrats in America, but if there were, the Browns would qualify. They’re the Kentucky Browns, as in Brown-Forman, as in one of the largest publicly traded companies in the spirits and wine business.

Patricia Barnstable, who was of the Doublemint twins (along with her sister Priscilla), married into the family when she wed David Brown. They started hosting this party at their home on Spring Drive 29 years ago to raise money for diabetes research. So far, they’ve donated more than $13 million to the Barnstable Brown Diabetes and Obesity Research Center at the University of Kentucky.

Sadly and ironically, David developed diabetes and died of complications in 2003. So now Patricia, her mother Wilma, and her and David’s son Chris Barnstable Brown — a lawyer and football writer who lives in New York City — organize and run the party. They don’t hire a PR firm because stars like Peyton Manning, Jeff Bridges, Brady, and Katie Couric know that if you’re going to the Derby, you can’t miss this. Patricia handles all the celebrities; Wilma sells each of the 1,200 or so tickets over the phone herself.

People are lined up along the rainy street outside the gates to watch the celebrities show up. The fans scream out names (“IT’S JOEY FATONE!!!”) as the party busses unload. They call horse racing the sport of kings, so it’s fitting that American royalty — the ones who grace the pages of the tabloids I browsed while I waited in the checkout line at T.J. Maxx — show out for it.

This party is a weird and wonderful pocket of Chris Barnstable Brown’s life, a yearly pilgrimage to pay homage to his roots. He recalls how, when he was ten years old, he danced in his backyard with Brooke Shields at the party. How his father used to shake the hand of every single guest who came through the wrought iron gates on either side of his driveway.

Which is why he’s still standing outside in the cold drizzle, two hours after the party started: to carry on his father’s tradition. From my perch on a riser in the press pen beside the red carpet area, I watch him shake the hand of each bedazzling star, moneyed Kentuckian, and guest of a guest who enters his family’s home.

Photo by author

Jesse Eisenberg poses awkwardly. Richie Sambora slides in and does a jazz hands pose. A bunch of famous people I don’t know — but who are apparently a big deal from some superhero TV show — put their arms around each other. Jeff Bridges and his wife are as sexy as you want them to be in real life; Jason Witten’s hair is thinning. Tracy Morgan jokes with the local newscasters. The cast of Vanderpump Rules, a reality show about bartenders at a Los Angeles restaurant, preen. New money oozes from their pores.

I shed my raincoat, hide it behind a catering table, and go back to the party in my evening dress and heels. The woman guarding the VIP section nods and pulls a rope aside when I flash my media badge, and I make my way up the sloping hill to the tent where I can see Aaron Rodgers, Randall Cobb, Jimmy Garoppolo, Bode Miller, Rickie Fowler, and Justin Rose hanging out.

Rodgers stands by himself away from his teammates. He’s facing the stage, where someone — maybe country singer Travis Tritt, but I can’t remember, and that seems unlikely — is covering a Ben Harper song. I introduce myself. We stand there listening together.

“Do you play an instrument?” I ask.

“Yeah, I play the guitar,” Rodgers says. “I love this song.”

“I just went to a Ben Harper concert a few weeks ago,” I say. “He played with his daughter. It was pretty cool.”

Rodgers lights up. “Really?” He says. “Ben is the reason I play. I sent him a signed jersey after I saw him in concert, and he sent me back a guitar. Can you believe that? He sent me a guitar!”

“Whoah, you should send more musicians signed jerseys,” I tell him. “You’d probably have way more guitars by now if you did that.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Rodgers says.

I get the sense that he wouldn’t mind being left alone, so I leave him alone. People keep coming up to take selfies with him. He obliges, always gracious, but you can tell it’s exhausting. A few tables away, Brady — who’s secured a sturdier chair — is dealing with the same thing. This is their price of admission.

“Aaron hates this shit,” says Eric Bakhtiari, ex-NFL player and brother of Packers tackle David Bakhtiari, looking over at Rodgers. “Normally, you know who I let through? Veterans and attractive women. My brother guards Aaron on the field, I guard my brother off it.”

He pauses and turns back to me. “You can use that in your story, it’s my gift to you.”

It’s now midnight, and Kid Rock — who was recently photographed in the Oval Office with President Donald Trump and Sarah Palin — is rapping. The Packers circle up and decide it’s time to go. So do the Patriots.

I watch Julian Edelman embrace Brady, then embrace Garoppolo, and then grab a bottle of water off the table and chug it in under thirty seconds. Both crews of players get whisked away by men in suits. Our new American thoroughbreds are paraded through the crowd like horses in the paddock before the Derby.

Kentucky has so far felt like an acid trip you’d have while reading US Weekly, a prep school semi-formal, and a frat party during a monsoon. Parts of Louisville I pass going in and out of the track are so bleak, but the trappings of the Derby are so bright. A huge swath of history seems missing, like someone’s painted over a wall without stripping it first.

Photo by author

Shirley Mae Beard at Shirley Mae’s Cafe and Bar

I go searching for what it is and head over to Shirley Mae’s Cafe and Bar, where a Clinton/Kaine sign still hangs on the iron bars of the front door. Carrying my hat in my hand and shivering in my sundress and raincoat, I push it open to enter an empty front room with a few tables and a well-stocked bar. It’s dimly lit and humid in here; the bar feels sticky and soft. You could carve your initials into it using only a fingernail.

Pictures of celebrities posing with Shirley Mae Beard, the owner, hang behind the bourbon bottles. I see Whoopi Goldberg, Hillary Clinton, B.B. King, Morgan Freeman. That famous picture of Clinton wearing sunglasses and looking at her cell phone hangs on the wall, blown up to the size of a poster.

Shirley Mae’s daughter Dee Simpson comes out from the kitchen. She’s wearing a shirt that says, I’M NOT ARGUING, I’M JUST TELLING YOU WHY I’M RIGHT, and has very short graying hair that she’s growing out after rounds of chemo. Three months ago doctors finally declared her cured of uterine cancer, but she says being cancer-free is like being in AA — you go day-by-day, month-by-month. Shirley Mae and her shock of white hair shuffle around behind the counter, stirring the contents of pots and poking at frying chicken.

“Oh, look at you, you got your hat and everything!” Dee says. She smiles, and her eyes crinkle in a way that gives me the sense that she’s not not making fun of me.

“Let me see what you’re wearing, take off that rain coat,” she says. I oblige.

“You trying to catch a man in that dress?” Dee laughs. “Lookin’ all fancy for the races.”

I laugh, too, and turn what I imagine is a very deep red. I feel like an overdressed moron in this dress and goddamn hat. It all might fit in at Churchill Downs, but right now it just seems silly, like I’m an actor who forgot to change after a play.

Shirley Mae used to throw another celebrity-filled party, an antidote to the hoopla at the track. In 1988, she started the Salute to the Black Jockeys Who Pioneered the Kentucky Derby in honor of the 15 black jockeys who won the race, a piece of history that gets lost in an overwhelmingly white event. Until 2000, a black man hadn’t ridden in the race since 1921. This year, not a single jockey is black.

“There weren’t any [Derby] events that attracted the black community,” Dee says as we sit down at a table near the kitchen. “You just had to get in where you fit in. They used to have jazz in the park, and that was something we kind of clung to. So my mom came along, and there’s a lot of apathy here. She just decided that she wanted something for the Derby that the black community could get involved in and black kids could be inspired by. This event is not just something that happens to us, it’s about us.”

Celebrities — the ones whose pictures hang on the wall — used to headline Shirley Mae’s festival. They’d take the stage the family put together in the back alley behind the bar. It sits on South Clay Street in Smoketown, an approximately thirteen-by-fourteen block area of Louisville that’s cordoned off by I-65 on one side and South Fork Beargrass Creek on the other.

“Kids grow up in the projects and wind up with apartments in the projects,” Dee says. “They can’t get out. It wasn’t a jumping off point, it was just a circle.”

Eventually, the city hiked up the tax rate, residents couldn’t keep up with their payments, and authorities seized and razed the old projects that used to surround the restaurant. The city handed them to developers; developers replaced them with condos containing a few rent-controlled units the projects’ old residents could apply to live in. Many of the houses nearby bear foreclosure signs. If you go on Zillow right now, there are at least ten pre-foreclosure auctions. You can buy a three-bedroom house for $23,000. The blurbs describe the area as “up and coming.”

“So the area is gentrifying?” I ask.

Dee looks at me, expressionless.

“I don’t know what that means,” she says.

“It’s like, when, uh, well ... it’s like, when —” I fumble over my words and Dee interrupts me.

“It’s taking you an awfully long time to explain that word,” she says, chuckling. “Do you know what it means?”

I finally come up with an explanation and Dee says yes, that’s what happening.

Shirley Mae comes over and half-tosses a paper plate of food I haven’t ordered onto the table in front of me. It’s loaded up with a pile of ribs, hot-water cornbread, soft green beans topped with chopped tomatoes and onion, and mashed potatoes indented and filled with a pool of yellow, melted butter. I thank Shirley Mae. She just nods, puts a styrofoam cup of gravy down next to the plate, and then walks away.

“She knows the history well, but she’s tired,” Dee says. “We’re open 24 hours starting today, we don’t close ‘til Sunday morning. We have a liquor license and we take advantage of it.”

The liquor license is largely why the family stopped putting on the festival. They couldn’t both work the two bars they own and host the event, so they ended up missing out on the weekend, which is the biggest forty-eight hour bonanza any Louisville bar can ask for each year. The festival also got too unwieldy, and Shirley Mae didn’t want to charge or exclude anyone. Satisfied that the history was now at least out there more than it used to be, the family held the last Salute to Black Jockeys in 1995.

I ask Dee how she feels about the Derby now.

“Well, it’s a rich man’s thing, okay? And all the snobbery that goes with it. The trappings that go with being rich, that’s the Derby. The hats. That’s debutante-ish.”

She gestures to my hat that I’ve tried to hide on the floor under my chair.

“You get here from New York. You buy into the imagery of it. You get the hat. You got the hat before you got on the plane, you know what I’m saying? ‘I gotta get my hat.’”

“It was on your list.”

I go to the backside of Churchill Downs early on the morning of the Derby.

To get in, you need to either own a horse, work with the horses, or have a media pass. It’s calm among the long, low green roofs of the barns. They look like a child took all the Monopoly houses out of the box and arranged them in even rows. The hay smells sweet. A dumpster bin filled with wood chips and manure sends steam up into the cold drizzle.

The horses, physical manifestations of millions and millions dollars, wait in white-washed stalls. I’m standing in front of Patch, a Derby contender and fan favorite. He stretches his regal neck over the ropes across his doorway. Ginny DePasquale, who’s been an assistant to Patch’s trainer Todd Pletcher for about twenty years, reaches out to cup the horse’s nose in her hand. She pulls his face towards hers.

“It’s kind of quiet back here,” she says, turning back to me. “Because you can’t hear the races and you can’t hear the crowds.”

The loudest noise is the chorus of birds chirping the way they do when the weather might clear up. The cords of veins in Patch’s neck look like they’re straining to get out from under his mahogany coat. He moves his beautiful head in a sweeping arc, and as he turns to the side I see the deep socket where one of his eyes should be.

Photo by author

Vets removed it due to an infection last year, and now there’s just a crater of bone. Skin and hair have grown over it, like moss on a stone. Ginny says they haven’t been able to see a difference in him since the operation.

She excuses herself to go check on another horse, and I make my way to the workers’ cantina where they serve tacos, burgers, pancakes, and, on race day, $20 cigars. The room reminds me of an Elks Lodge.

The backside is a village — along with the cantina, there are dormitories for the seasonal workers, 80 percent of whom come from South America (Guatemala mostly) to work in the barns. They wire money back home from the local grocery store. There’s a recreation room back here, too, with pool tables and betting windows where money gets siphoned from workers’ pockets back into the racing machine. The spire of a small chapel breaks the monotony of the rectangular barns, cutting into the sky like a mirror of the spires across the track.

Four separate ATMs line the wall under four TVs in the cantina. The sun comes out and the mood lifts. A mix of English and Spanish floats up to the ceiling. Workers and people who look like they could be owners, but I’m not sure, pour over the same betting books.

The first race of the day is about to start. As the cashier hands me my change, I hear the national anthem pipe in through the television’ speakers. The cantina goes silent. Everyone — citizens and non-citizens — stands up to face the wall of televisions, placing their hands over their hearts.

Photos of the Capitol building in D.C. flash as the anthem plays, alternating with visuals of fireworks bursting over Churchill Downs. Montages of waving American flags crawl across the screen. The room sings in unison. A hispanic worker shifts his weight from foot to foot. A white guy fidgets with the cowboy hat he’s holding to his chest.

When they get to “home of the brave” everyone claps and lets out whoops that bounce off the low ceiling and linoleum floor. The patriotic cheers linger until the chatter of several languages resumes and swallows them up.

I change behind a car in the parking lot of the backside, trading my jeans and thousands of sweatshirts for a cotton sundress and a black, feathered fascinator I bought from a lady selling hats in my hotel. I face the sun. For the first time in three days, I’m finally warm.

A guy driving a golf cart offers me a ride to Gate 10 and I hop on. We tear out of the backside, joining the lines of people in pastel who are streaming towards the spires. A group of old men sit in lawn chairs and hold up numbers from one to 10 as women go by.

In his essay about the Derby that I reread on the plane, Hunter S. Thompson wrote, “Along with the politicians, society belles and local captains of commerce, every half-mad dingbat who ever had any pretensions to anything at all within five hundred miles of Louisville will show up there to get strutting drunk and slap a lot of backs and generally make himself obvious.”

I see plenty of dingbats in the concourse: three separate guys dressed as Colonel Sanders, at least ten different men in seersucker suits with pink Vineyard Vines foam whales on their heads (most of them overweight, in a fratty, beer-y kind of way), a woman whose pink shoes perfectly match her date’s pink suspenders, 30,000 swooping haircuts on 30,000 different white men, and a woman brandishing a cigarette holder like she’s Cruella de Ville.

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I also see Jax, one of the cast members from Vanderpump Rules, buying a drink. I take a selfie with him because my friends are obsessed with the show (ironically, I think, but I could be wrong), and when I turn around, I bump into a guy wearing a suit with the Packers logo plastered all over it. His girlfriend’s yellow and green hat and skirt matches. Aaron Rodgers is somewhere upstairs on millionaires row. The fan and the idol are separated by only four floors but millions of dollars. They won’t see each other today.

I’ve gotten completely lost while I people-watch, and realize I’m wandering in circles through the maze of tunnels as I look for Section 125. I attempt to get up to Millionaire’s Row just for the hell of it, but the guards aren’t interested in being sweet-talked. One of them looks at my ticket and tells me I need to go back out to Gate 1 in order to find my seat.

Gates. There are so many gates. This place exists in gates. In barriers. In lines. Some are literal, like the lines of people waiting to buy drinks or make bets. Or the line the horses cross to determine how much you’ve won or lost. Or the wrought iron gate that guards the driveway of the Barnstable Brown house on Spring Drive. Or the barricade of folding chairs protecting Tom Brady from fans. Or the white columns that pen reporters in behind the red carpets all weekend. Or the gate the horses strain against before the start of a race. Or the railing that keeps fans back from the track. Or the mechanical arm at the entrance to the parking lot of the backside. Or the ex-NFL player who decides to shield Aaron Rodgers from people at parties — except for 10s, and real life heroes who’ve been to war.

Other barriers and lines are legal, like the one the city tried to draw around Shirley Mae’s restaurant so they could demolish it for 20 extra parking spots. Some gates are metaphorical, like the one that keeps people in Smoketown from getting off the wheel of poverty.

But the most indelible lines here are the ones you can’t see. They’re made of blood, and they determine how thoroughly a beast has been bred, how deeply a family is rooted. No amount of money can redraw lineage, but wealth is a master key. With enough money, there are very few gates you can’t open.

I look around at the drunk people. Do they know we’re all being corralled? Not just here, but everywhere? Organized according to our ability to access the real American dream, in which the only path to wealth is to have money to begin with? If they know that being here at all means you’ve accessed something?

I finally find Section 125. At the entrance, a drunk guy is slumped on the ground with his back against the concourse wall. He looks up at the usher, who’s telling him he doesn’t have the correct wristband to get in.

"Trust me, I have the right one,” he slurs, showing her his wrist.

"No, you don't, sir,” she says.

"I have the right wristband,” he insists.

"No, sir. You don't,” she says again.

I show her my wrist and she nods. I walk to my seat.

On Friday at the Oaks, I thought this weekend was about nostalgia. I thought it was a pageant, a relic of an America that doesn’t exist anymore, when celebrity belonged to people in bloodlines named Vanderbilt, Carnegie, and Rockefeller, rather than to servers from L.A. restaurants famous for punching each other in the face and sleeping with each other on a reality show.

But Donald Trump, a tacky reality star himself, is our president and the pictures coming out of the White House only feature white men. This isn’t a nostalgic America. This is our unscripted reality. How we divide ourselves is a much deeper part of our nation’s soul than how we come together. Yes, we’re all watching the same thing today, but we’re seeing it from vastly different vantage points, each determined by what we can afford and which gates our names open. By unalterable bloodlines.

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I make my way down to the rail. I’m buzzed on bourbon and I’ve lost 26 dollars betting on horses. My throat is sore from the secondhand cigar smoke. I’m blessedly warmed (and burnt) by the sun, which has dipped below the spires and thrown our section into shadow.

The crowd — mostly made up of people who aren’t from Kentucky, but, like me, have parachuted in for the experience — starts to sing “My Kentucky Home,” a song written in 1852 by Steven Foster, a man who also wasn’t from Kentucky. The song used to contain the word “darkies.” That’s been changed to “people” now.

Between breaks in the song I hear a woman a few feet away from me yell at another woman who’s trying to squeeze onto the rail.

“Where is your seat?” she demands. “You aren't legally supposed to be here!”

“The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home, ‘tis summer, the people are gay,” sing the stands.

"Your ticket isn't for here,” the woman continues, getting shriller. “You can't be here!”

“Weep no more, my lady, oh, weep no more today,” the crowd sings.

“Sure, it's the right section, but it's not your seat!” screams the angry one. The other woman shrugs and doesn’t move. The angry one gives up, fuming, her elbow akimbo so that it digs into her pesky neighbor’s side.

The song ends and the crowd erupts again. Across the track, people claw at the fence of the infield. They’re stacked on top of each other. I’m pushed up against the rail by the crush of other bodies, too. Everyone around me strains to catch a glimpse of the gates where the horses are lining up.

The gun goes off.

The gates open, and the crowd roars as Classic Empire, Patch, Always Dreaming, Irish War Cry, and 16 other purebreds race by. I once again feel the thunder of the hooves in my chest, and the cold metal of the rail in my ribs. The stands seem to cheer, seem to breathe, seem to vibrate as though they were one giant body. For two minutes everyone here, from the owners on Millionaire’s Row to the drunk college kids in the infield to the workers watching from the windows of the cantina, is united by the primal experience of watching these animals run. The frenetic energy is bigger than any of us. It transcends the barriers, leaps over the gates, erases all lines. It's so loud that it becomes its own deafening silence.

And then the last horse finishes and the race is over. Always Dreaming wins. Vinny Viola — a friend Trump tapped for Army Secretary, who withdrew due to compromising business ties — owns the horse. The mud’s stopped flying, heart rates have slowed, the money’s been counted. We’re all just winners and losers again, sectioned off according to where we’re supposed to be. A man in a green suit behind me jumps up and down and screams. He had $700 on Always Dreaming.